We're Not Grabbing Doors Anymore
by adomaniccatnerd
Summary: In which Tony doesn't have much to do after the Avengers have disbanded, and quite a few problems to solve, and Peter's sad face permanently stuck in his mind. Maybe going for the hug would have been a good idea after all. A story of Tony Stark's family and how he brings it back together again. Cover image by dchanberry on Tumblr.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! It's been a while since my last fic and back with a new story** **that I am ridiculously excited about! I'll leave the long note for the end, but to get a few things out of the way: this story is set between the Civil War/Spiderman HoCo period and Infinity War, and it will be almost entirely centered on Tony and his relationships in that period (Irondad! lots of it! I love it!). I'll be crossposting it under the same username on Ao3, too, for those more comfortable with that site. AHH I'm so ready!**

**Finally, a huge, huge, HUGE shoutout to my pal Mia who helped me develop the motivation and time management skills to successfully start a fic I'm actually comfortable with! Her username in herecomesthepun, check her out! She writes the most amazing Percy Jackson stories, and Percabeth is her specialty (iSpy is AMAZING oh shit).**

**TRIGGER WARNING: The later chapters of this fic will contain descriptions of PTSD/anxiety attacks. I'll add warnings when they come up, but just in case.**

* * *

_And we're all not here for nothing_

_And we're bored with looking good_

_And we gotta be starting something_

_Would you change it if you could?_

-Vegas Lights, Panic! At The Disco

_So much for laying low._ Midnight's stained the sky a while back, and he and Happy are practically flying through the streets. There are, at the very least, two dozen sleepless teens–he knows it–all wondering what kind of guy would tote a sleek limo around this dingy neighbourhood. And if Tony knows anything about kids, at least three of them are staring at him, _right now,_ in the dead of the night.

Obviously not right _at_ him. He is, after all, wearing his highly unnecessary sunglasses just for the occasion. Only one kid knows right where Tony Stark is tonight, and that boy is two blocks away now, probably waving at the empty street just for the hell of it. Pete's weird like that.

_ Weird, but interesting,_ Tony thinks, humming quietly at the flickering city lights. A ghost of their last conversation, barely five minutes ago, still hangs in his mind. For some reason he can't dispel it. Which is bothersome. Tony prefers not to hang on to things, because that leads to guilt about Steve and the team and using a literal fourteen-year-old for his own agenda, and then _that_ leads to feelings, and Tony Stark is just better with what he actually understands.

He thinks about asking Happy. But then, he really shouldn't, because the poor man is minutes away from murdering him then going back for the kid too. Pepper's infinitely more fun to talk to, anyway. She's called him, in fact–she's forgotten about their break; Tony doesn't know if that means she forgives him but it's better than nothing. And she'd, you know, actually talk about the team like they were people, and Spiderman like he was an actual kid, not like all the others who consider them fugitives and enemies. She'll be home in less than a month–she claims his company is causing her trouble; things are getting political and they don't want to branded _Stark_ any longer after what the Avengers have done. But she's fighting for him and she'll come, and that's what matters.

But the question is quite persistent.

Persistent, just like Peter. Tony has never been so blown away, and by a _kid_ of all people. He's wondered if he was like that as a teenager, but the thought barely crosses his mind before he decides on a firm _no–Peter_ is passionate and helpful and infinitely kinder. Tony spent his own teenage years sulking at MIT and eyeing Rhodey from afar. Peter built a (somewhat primitive) supersuit and took on Avengers and _won–and_ he had good grades, half a dozen friends, and a perfect relationship with his aunt to show for it.

He deserved a hug, right? Tony thinks he might have deserved the hug. He needs to ask someone to be sure.

Okay, Happy might be pissed off. Tony's just going to have to get him an ice-cream or something. Really wouldn't be an issue.

So he sighs softly, and asks, "You think I should have gone for it?"

Happy's brows twitch. "What?"

"The hug." Happy's brows furrow again, and he elaborates. "The kid, Peter. He thought I was hugging him. I wasn't going to anyway, but d'you think I should just done it?"

Tight smile, pursed lips. Happy definitely doesn't care for this kid. "I don't really think it matters, boss."

Tony sinks further into his seat, sighing. "Yeah, alright."

Trust Happy not to care about Peter. Which he expected, no surprise there. But that boy really does grow on you; it's a tad surprising there are people who get sick of him and all that infectious energy. Tony doesn't hold it against Happy. Sure, he likes the kid as much as the next guy, but Peter really can be overbearing every once in a while. Even when he doesn't try. Take that camera–apparently glued to his hand–to begin with. Peter is lucky Stark Enterprises even let him _use_ it, much less take it home. And then there's the hotel fiasco. And all the fanfare over a suit that really isn't so special in Tony's tired eyes (_He can do better,_ he keeps telling himself), and that excited, bubbly voice slightly too young for a teenage boy that rings in his ears even now–

Yeah, Tony won't hold it against him. Happy doesn't even like his own boss half the time, much less a teenager nearly as curious as he is strong. And, to his credit, he does try to hide it. Didn't roll his eyes when Tony gushed–yeah, he knew full well he was gushing about Peter, but so what?–he tried to protect the kid, and he didn't help spread the jokes about it around the tower, which is relieving.

Sighing, Tony shifts to lean against the window. He really should stop all the sighing. People started thinking he was angry, Pepper once told him. Apparently sighing conveys annoyance between humans; who's he to know? All _his_ humans are disembodied voices.

But Tony feels like he's got a reason to sigh this time. Or at least something to dwell on for a couple minutes.

_Peter's face._

They don't call Tony genius for nothing.

Well, okay, any moron can observe. But, observation makes a man more intelligent, and Tony happens to be remarkably good at it. Faces are his specialty. How can they not be, when his own hardly ever changes? Miserable, pissed, ecstatic–unless it's bordering on some rare extreme, Tony's face just… remains. Doesn't change. Sometimes doesn't even twitch. His voice goes higher every once in a while. Sometimes he drinks less. But his face never cracks. Years of concealing his feelings have taken their toll, and unless you're some emotional know-it-all like Pepper, his face just tends to hang somewhere between aloof and badass ninety percent of the time.

Could be worse, he supposes. Tony could be stuck with a scared or angry face, and then he'd be inconsolable.

_Other's_ faces, though–they're just too easy. Take Happy. Relieved, definitely; his forehead is smooth again, and he favours a calm gaze to his previous glare. Just minutes ago he was pretty much done with life, his eyes begging to roll every thirty seconds. And, though he tries to hide it, he is pretty much in a state of constant stress. He's the embodiment of the sound a mother makes when she nearly tears her hair out, and Peter hasn't helped; the man just wants to drop Tony off, go home, and sleep.

Tony's a little hurt, truth be told.

That's where Peter comes in, though. Peter idolises him, treats his every word like it's law, trips over himself to thank Tony and the researchers at his company; and Tony has to admit, he's missed that feeling. A couple years ago, he was the stars in every geeky kid's eyes. But then Peter went for the hug, and Tony was thrust _way_ out of comfort zone and his first thoughts became a declaration followed by an awkward silence. Peter smiled, but Tony didn't miss the strain in his cheeks, the attempt not to blush; the disappointment and embarrassment he's probably trying to forget this very instant.

Tony fidgets in his seat. Peter's let-down expression is too similar to the one he had as a child, back when he thought science-fair medals and school experiments would please his father. When Howard's emptiness grated on his nerves for too long, he turned into that monster from a few years back. He's still trying to forgive himself. And Peter is like him, _so_ much like him it's painful. He can go in the same direction.

The thought unsettles Tony to his core.

If Tony only ever gets to do one thing, he wants to erase every trace of the old Tony Stark. Stark Enterprises isn't his anymore, and they've stopped supplying weapons years ago, and he's burned the blueprints himself. He stresses collaboration and innovation every moment he can, and he doesn't keep those things to himself; he loads students with cash and watches them change the world. But now he wonders if that's enough. He thinks of Peter's face again, awkward and embarrassed and trying so, so hard to conceal it. He thinks of how confused the kid was for their entire stay in Berlin, how he hardly ever anticipated the luxuries Tony provided.

_Kid's had a pretty basic upbringing. Of course he's impressed by a five-star hotel suite._

But was he? Maybe Peter just couldn't picture Tony doing those things for him. Maybe Tony was harsh, authorative, frugal, _something _and it rubbed off on the kid in a bad way. Tony's tried so hard to outshine his past, playing the benefactor and hero, he's never really thought about whether he actually _was_ one. Real heroes didn't recruit teenagers, or hurt the people they loved, or nearly kill past team members.

Part of him thinks he's just torn up over Rogers. He wants to investigate the patriot's claims before he does anything, and he wants to know what's happened to those who were arrested. And possibly reveal whoever allowed Rogers and Barnes to escape. He'll have time for that when they reach the Avengers' facility.

But he switches his guilty stare from his driver in the mirror to the streets outside. They're slowly but surely are becoming brighter and firmer as they approach downtown New York. He can lose himself in the still night for now.

There is a lot left to figure out. As much as he hates to admit it, it takes precedence over a hug Peter might not even care about. He'll let Happy rest, and try and salvage whatever he has left with Rogers' team. And he'll try again with Pepper, when she gets home. He's excited about that last part.

* * *

**So there it is! For those confused this is set after the airport battle but before the showdown in Siberia. I always thought Tony looked a bit too healthy to have been punched to hell in the scene where he takes Peter home. **

**I'll be updating this weekly, on Fridays! I've got a couple chapters complete so I shouldn't fall behind, and with summer I'm hoping I'll update even more. Please follow/favorite/REVIEW. I answer every review and I love them! thanks again for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**hello again! I'm back with a new chapter! I'm posting it kind of late, but it's it's finals week and my mom would not let me touch my tablet before I finished chemistry, and I don't really blame her. **

**So this takes place after the fight with Steve, and it's also where the story really starts! I'm so excited to get this going! Also, PEPPERONY YES. I got a crazy word count out of it compared to the first chapter.**

**Finally, I wanted to thank you all so much for the crazy good response this story has had! Twelve follows in just a few days is pretty big for me! I'm glad people are already liking this!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

_"I've never so adored you_

_I'm twisting allegories now"_

_\- Far Too Young To Die, Panic! At The Disco_

It's two in the morning and two weeks later when an exhausted Happy finally deposits him at the tower. Tony offers to let him stay - it's not like any of those rooms are going to be in use now, anyways - but Happy doesn't waste time declining and drives into the scattering of lights that is the New York skyline, and it's now just Tony and a small suitcase at the door. He wants to talk to Pepper, but he hopes she's asleep - it's late, and his latest, hopefully last battle weighs him down like an anchor. He shoulders his suitcase and makes his way to the elevator, and declares that he'll get off on the thirtieth floor.

He'd rather be anywhere but here.

The Tower has always been home–his _first_ home, in fact, because his childhood mansion was never homely. But this right here, this isn't home. It's an album and he doesn't want to rifle through the photographs. The people who lived here with him are all missing or imprisoned and he's part of the reason why. But he's made a promise, and F.R.I.D.A.Y. is with him as the elevator climbs up, reminding him of it.

The elevator shakes slightly on the way up. Has it always done that? He's designed it to be fast–more speed equals a higher kinetic energy and it's probably shaking because there's nothing to lose the extra heat to. He'll work on that later, but he doubts anyone else has noticed. Tony thinks it's the injuries making things so glaringly obvious.

As it stands, he feels like crap.

He's standing after being bedridden for a week. His body definitely isn't thanking him. Every step feels like thousands of`little needles shooting up his calves, and his chest convulses at random moments so it's like the panic attacks except he can think straight this time. He has a headache, it's _awful_ and it's sheer willpower that keeps him thinking, keeps him talking. The elevator comes to a halt, innocently switching from breakneck speed to complete stillness. It's so unprecedented that Tony isn't prepared and he doubles over, trying not to groan.

At least Pepper's here. He lets the thought buoy him, and exits the elevator.

She's bound to be sleeping now, Tony imagines. She's worked harder than ever in Tony's absence. He wonders if she'll look the same way after so many months–messy nighttime hair scattered like a firework against the pillow, dressed in a tank top and only partly beneath the blanket. He hopes so. It's not ideal, but it's not a bad time to walk in, either. He'll rest now, medicate and get rid of the stupid headache, and he'll speak to Pepper tomorrow morning. He's even going to buy her breakfast. If there's one fight he can't bear to lose, it's this one. Tony breathes–he makes it short, because his chest feels like ice–and steers himself toward the living quarters.

The first thing he notices is that the lights are on, and Pepper is not asleep.

She's not smiling, either.

_She's awake she's awake why the hell is she awake_

Just like that he's a thousand times more aware of everything. Of how she's got her hair in an impeccable ponytail and probably hasn't changed since morning–she's in a snowy shirt with the sleeves are rolled up and black work trousers; jacket splayed across the couch. Of how he's in a ratty hoodie (he was standed in Siberia for _days,_ alright?) and his face is more bruises than skin. Of how his words fail him and he's going _think think think_ and his not-quite ex-girlfriend is taking it all in; is seeing Tony at his absolute worst with no jokes and no shield to protect him.

Tony tries for a grin, but he falters. Pepper's eyes are red-rimmed, and she's staring at him like she wants the drawstrings around his neck to throttle him then and there.

Well. Improvise, adapt, overcome, right? He can't make it worse. He puts down his suitcase and wears his most sheepish smile.

"It's F.R.I.D.A.Y., isn't it? Because if she had an issue with letting you in–"

She interrupts him, with a red in her voice fit to challenge the one in her hair. "Tony."

"–I can always deactivate her, she hates that–"

_"Tony."_ She sounds lethal. It's dangerous to keep going.

Tony keeps going.

"–or, _or,_ I'll take you out and we'll leave her here to weep–"

"Anthony Edward Stark."

"Okay, okay, point made."

He watches her, wary and silent, hoping he comes off as apologetic. She in turn glares back, and Tony inexplicably thinks of water overflowing in a saucepan. He's not stupid, he knew talking to Pepper like that would have most likely made it worse, but he hoped it would be better to watch her scream than watch her cry. There was a small chance she'd have laughed, too; isn't she here because she's worried about him? At least if he's making jokes, she'll think he feels happier than he is.

Maybe he should tell her. He keeps the snark out of his voice this time, and steps toward her. "I, uh, just thought it'd be nice. You know. Comic relief."

"Tony, what were you thinking?" Her brittle voice now cracks, and she's going to dissolve into tears; he can see it. "Of all the things, of all the people, you fight _Steve, _Tony? Steve?!"

Tony wants to explain himself. He knows she'll listen. But not now. She's having her moment; she's falling apart, and the sight of it feels like a blade, slow and uneven as it enters his chest.

"I don't–I don't even know where to _start._ I know Steve can be overbearing. I heard about the accords, I was appalled, disgusted, I've seen you guys and I know you're good when you're alone, but a _f__ight?"_ Her glare has become an unsteady flame, and there are flashes of hurt in its blue. "I–I don't know what to say, what if you'd been hurt, what if you'd _died–"_

And there it is. She stops talking because it's useless now, both of them know it, and instead she's all tears and pain and barely restrained movement, and he shouldn't but _God_ he wants to march to her and talk her out of it. He murmurs_ I'm sorry, Pep_ instead and looks away as she cries, trying to see anything but tears. First Rogers, then Natasha. What if he loses Pepper, too?

He hisses at the very idea and refuses to consider it again. He's _Tony Stark_. He fixes things. Can't he fix this?

He sighs, and hears Pepper hold her breath. She's expecting him to talk.

"Pepper, I–"

_Be honest._

"I don't want to make this worse. I tried–I swear I did." He thinks hard before he continues. "Cap did too, I guess. But there's just–there's too _much,_ okay? Bad blood. Hard to fix. We talked it out a couple times, and it all went south."

Her face is significantly drier. Tony can't judge how well it bodes for him.

But, well, he hasn't lied, has he? He's tried it, tested the waters time and time again until it broke him and Rogers both. And maybe, maybe today he'd be alright trying yet again, but Siberia and that rusted warehouse has been carved into his mind and he knows it'll never fade. He can't forget the smell of blood and ice as they fought; he can't forget his mother's last words, pathetic and blurred and _pleading_ and he sure as hell can't forget the shame in Rogers' eyes as he whispered _yes,_ that he'd known about it all along. He can't forget the resolve in Rogers' as the Avengers' leader stood by Barnes and kept fighting and very nearly fought to kill. Maybe Tony should have sat down, considered it all. But he thinks this and he remembers Maria's voice, and he doesn't care if it was the wrong thing to do. He regrets nothing.

Pepper's thinking about what she's going to say. He can tell; her arms are crossed and she's staring at him with more hurt than rage.

"Steve, I can see him being rash. But _you–"_

It hits like a gunshot. She's thinking of years ago. When he made her CEO, when he had a new girl every other week, when he threatened a terrorist on live television. Every time Pepper had nearly left him, back before he had become too much.

"I thought you'd grown out of it. I thought you would be _okay,_ I wouldn't have to worry anymore." She's cracking again. But it's not screaming, it's soft, and it's all the more painful. "What were you thinking? _Were_ you thinking?"

He wasn't. He wants to tell her, tell her why he's okay with not thinking. He's not sorry.

Or is he?

Does he feel guilty?

That's a stupid question. Of course he does, for God's sake it's three in the morning and the love of his life is bawling her eyes out because she nearly lost him, and he's just lost every Avenger to either Rogers or the Raft and he doesn't know what's better.

Is he sorry?

That's complicated.

Tony wants to tear his eyes out. He wants to hug Pepper and tell her he loves her and he wants to call Rogers and scream then apologize and he wants to _rest._ But his limbs are tense and he doesn't know where to put them–Pepper's the one who initiates hugs and he's lost without her, he hates fighting with her and it's eating at him.

"Can I, can I get us something? Wine, Chinese, and I tell you everything?" His words are all tangled up. He silently begs whatever is out there that she says yes. Pepper will want to say yes, right? She has to. She misses him. That's the reason she came, isn't it?

Pepper's quiet. Then, "Yeah, okay."

Something in Tony subsides, and he flies toward the fridge and brings out two glasses and more bottles–who's he kidding, one won't be enough–and for a long time they search online for a Chinese joint before they give up and he gets them McDonald's. Thirty minutes later they're washing Big Macs down with red wine and Pepper's waiting for him to talk, all wary eyes and studied movements.

So Tony talks.

He starts at what he considers the beginning–that's years ago, back when he first dreamed up Ultron–and he gets to the Accords and the hours he spent thinking them over, then Zemo and how he moved like a movie whose audio always came just a second too late, then Rogers and how he constantly had Barnes in tow. He makes it to the airport with ease, and it's a bit daunting now, especially when Spiderman (He's not giving her Peter's name just yet) comes up. Pepper's stare betrays just a shadow of fear. He doesn't like it, but he presses on: talks about the Black Panther, Wanda, Giant-Man, Natasha turning her back on him last-minute and his final pleas with Rogers before they both realized only a fight could bring them out of this. Pepper's trying to compose herself–he sees her tense brows, her hands clenching and unclenching–and he really wants to stop now, but she'll never understand him if he doesn't tell her.

It was not just the fight, at the end of the day. It was everything that led up to it. It was fuming when Rogers didn't want to understand that the Avengers were more important than some contract, it was balancing Ross' demands with Rogers' agenda, it was how he managed to push even Natasha away just by being himself, it was Rhodey falling from the sky and the way Tony was reminded of Pepper almost dying, and how every last person on this broken team still filled the tower with their absence. They each had their own floor, their own cheques that Tony himself had signed. It's not just the fight, it's how a buildup that lasted years has fallen to pieces before his very eyes.

Tony chokes up when he gets to the warehouse.

He got through the Raft–slowly, very slowly, and Pepper's eyes watered–and he can't seem to go on, so instead he goes back to it, talks about two men ripped from their daughters and Wanda in a _shock collar and_ how they all blamed him, every last one of them, even when he apologized, even when he begged to help Rogers–

"Tony, God, _Tony, stop_."

Rambling. He's not making sense anymore, but Pepper's finally got the gist of it and she's crying, tears thick and fast and interrupted with sobs, and she's doing that thing where she hides her mouth like it's going to hide anything else.

Tony's crying too, he realizes. But not as hard. He wonders if there's irony in that.

But then Pepper reaches for him and pulls him close, and the tears come, _r__eally_ come this time, but it's okay because he's in her arms again.

He hasn't hugged anyone for some time now. No one's offered, except maybe Peter. But he realizes now none of those hugs would have mattered anyways, because it's _Pepper_ Tony wants; Pepper who's smart and calm and knows him better than he knows himself. She smells like lavender and lime and the fries they've just eaten, and her hair is matted and looks more like licorice than fire. It's disgusting, but he doesn't care, because Pepper is back, really back, and it's the best he's felt in months.

"I'm sorry, okay?" She pulls closer and he can feel her stroking his damp hair. "I'm so, so sorry, Tony. I didn't know."

He thinks she's trying to stop crying so she can talk to him. She pulls out of the hug–Tony's heart is racing again, _come back_–and he sees that he's right.

"Tony, listen. Steve–he's wrong here, okay?" He looks down when she says this, and she tilts his chin so they're eye-to-eye. "Steve's _wrong._ Not you."

"He wasn't wrong about the Accords."

"But he was wrong in the way he fought them. _You_ were the one who wanted to keep the team together." Pepper's less crying and more fuming now. "You tried to keep them together until the very end. You know that."

_Until the very end._

No, no he didn't.

"Actually, we almost got it figured out. Almost stopped fighting." Pepper gaze turns sharp again. When Tony continues, the words taste like acid. "We found out about this–this scheme, a plan to let more supersoldiers loose. People worse than Barnes, worse than Ultron and the Mandarin put together."

He doesn't need to explain how horrifying that prospect is. Pepper's wide eyes and hitched breath do it for him.

"And we went, and instead of finding soldiers we find this man. Civilian. Called Zemo." Tony says the name and wants to punch Zemo until he bleeds. "Turns out he's the guy who got the Accords going. Planned it out for months."

Tony forces himself to remember the story he wants to bury forever. He sounds insane, even to himself, when he continues–he talks like he's impressed; he almost wants to laugh.

"He studied us. Personality, relationships, every little _detail_ he found. He was ready when he found us." Here Tony _does_ laugh, he speaks in slight singsong. "He had everything he needed to make sure the Avengers never came back. He had the reasons, had our fear, he had the goddamn _video–"_

"Wait, what? What video?"

Tony pauses.

"Tony, what video?"

He recalls it with haunting accuracy. "December 16, 1991. When my parents went to the airport, and–"

"And they crashed the car?" Pepper asks softly.

He looks her in the eye and he's half-mad, he's sure. "See, but they _didn't_ crash the car. They didn't do shit, they just kept driving and Barnes crashed the car for them, he did everything I thought Dad did–"

"The Winter Soldier–you're saying _Sergeant Barnes_–"

"Killed my parents? That's exactly what I'm saying."

There's finality in his voice, and the silence that follows hangs like scattered dust.

Tony still can't believe it's true. He knows it is, he's not stupid and he's never forgetful, but it's a sentence that's clunky and bitter and wrong. And he follows it with one that feels even worse, _Rogers knew, he knew and he didn't say shit_, and Pepper holds her hand to her mouth and sobs, and goes _oh, Tony_ and hugs him again.

He mumbles into her hair. "Wasn't very one-sided if you ask me. I fought too."

"Oh my God," Pepper says, moving back to look at him, "No, no, you can _not_ compare him to you. You tried, my God, you broke after something that would have killed anyone else."

"I–"

"No, no. This is where I lead. I'm sorry, alright? I'm sorry I didn't listen, I'm sorry I ever doubted you, I'm sorry you had to do it all alone. I'm sorry Ross took your friends and the rest of them left, I'm sorry."

He chokes out a mirthless laugh–it sounds more like a sob–and they hold each other for some time, Pepper and her string of _I'm sorry_ floating about the room like music. She's trying to get it stuck in his head.

"Pep," he mumbles. Then louder when she's still talking. _"Pep._ I've got my apologies too. I–I put my life in danger, and I scared you and stressed you out, and I wasn't thinking straight. That was awful to do."

He _is_ sorry, he decides. He'll only ever be apologetic to Pepper, and right now his chest already hurts from all the talking and crying but he feels worse because it's his first time speaking to Pepper for months and this is what he does to her.

"It's okay," she whispers, "It's okay. Just this once. I know what Iron Man is to you, I know what the Avengers were." She pulls him closer but quickly lets go as he chokes out a protest–his bruises need space–but the sentiment is there.

He's shocked that she is still here, to tell the truth. He's given Pepper more grief in the last eight years than most people handle in a lifetime, and yet she's still here; cradling him and whispering kind words even though orange is bleeding into the sky and they've been here for hours. What he would do without her, he doesn't want to know.

Right there, he decides he has to make it up to her. He doesn't know if he can, he doesn't even know if she'll want it, but he'll be damned if he doesn't try. It must have taken everything for her to convince herself to come here. Tony doesn't ever want to see her go.

There's only one question left to ask. It's a lot less scary than what Tony has already shared.

"Does this mean our break is over?"

Her muscles become taut against his, and there's a hitch in her breath.

"You won't stop being Iron Man, will you?"

"You know I can't. Not if it kills me."

Pepper stays quiet. Then relaxes. "Good. The world needs him now."

Tony bursts into laughter, and pulls at her like they're both dying, ignoring the way his cheeks flame up and his chest screams at him to stop. He knows how hard it is for Pepper to say this. But they're both drunk and the room reeks of greasy food, and he's seeing his first light–real sunlight, not the faded glow in Siberia–for the first time in weeks, and everything feels young and slightly crazy. They can make this work. He knows it.

"If we get together," he vows, "It we get together again–no more mistakes. No more sudden plans. It'll be Iron Man rebranded, I promise."

"You really want this to be over, huh?"

"Only if you want it, too."

Pepper pulls back, smiles at him, and at last kisses him. It tastes awful, neither of them has practiced in ages, but it's warm and sincere and _different_ to any kiss Tony has shared with her before. It doesn't feel like flames or ice or fireworks or whatever else he's come to expect from her over the years.

It feels like the sunrise.

* * *

**i actually feel quite proud of this scene! I'm not usually very good at romance, but I feel like I did an okay job here. I promise Peter will come in soon enough - I just need to establish a few plotlines first, as this is a Tony story in the end.**

**Please follow and favourite and _review! _I love every one! I'll see you guys next Friday!**


	3. Chapter 3

**It's Friday again YES! These chapter lengths keep on increasing (go me! i'm improving!) and I'm happy I'm keeping up my schedule!**

**Also.**

**SCHOOL'S OUT FOR THE SUMMER! NO MORE EXAMS, JERKS! (not you guys. just adults)**

**Anyways, with the lovely arrival of summer I'm hoping to increase my update schedule, because the current plan i've got will have my writing until November and I'd like to seperate school and fanfic as much as I can. If I can write three chapters in this next week, I might just update twice weekly during summer!**

**Anyways, enjoy!**

* * *

_"I could lift you up_

_I could show you what you want to see_

_And take you where you want to be"_

\- Safe And Sound, Capital Cities

For the next few days Tony is as good as gold.

The media has finally picked up on what's happened. Somebody finds out where he is, and the next day dozens of eager reporters hound the Stark Tower, their questions and shouts begging to be heard. They want to know about the UN Meeting, and what happens now that over half the Avengers are in hiding. They want to understand Ross' final decision and talk about the carnage that is the remnants of Flughafen Leipzig-Halle airport. Above all they want just about everything related to Steve Rogers, because of _course_ the world is still in love with Captain America.

Tony wants to throw up when he first sees them.

Instead he puts on a plastic smile, sticks his head out one of the windows and tells them one by one to screw off. Happy arrives half an hour later and starts yelling, to mixed results. At one point it gets so bad that Pepper gives him a sideways glance and whispers _watch this_, before sticking her own head out with a much warmer grin. A chorus of _Miss Potts is back?!_ follows, and _then_ they at last leave, satisfied that a mended relationship is a good enough replacement for the story they would have initially received.

It's not a fun morning, but at least Tony has showered and swapped his rotting bandages for new ones. And Pepper is impressed by how readily he sheds the Stark persona in front of so many people–that's him keeping his promise, and his newly-reinstated girlfriend appreciates it. If she was pretty last night, she's radiant this morning: she's stripped herself of last night's muck; her hair is soft and bright and the tear tracks have left her. A grey t-shirt and sweatpants hang loose about her figure–she can stay now, she promises, the company won't need her in person for a while–and F.R.I.D.A.Y. has thought ahead and asked for their breakfast by the time they're both awake.

Suit or no suit, Tony thinks he could fly.

They spend the morning talking. Tony learns that Stark Industries has flourished under Pepper's command: the market is theirs to shape any way they want it. Pepper has spent more time at her parents' home, and she's gone on walks and learned new recipes and read a book or two. In short, she's _done_ things; been a lot more useful than he has. It's a painful realization, but he stares at Pepper's eyes as she talks (they're the colour of the sky), and he resolves to tuck it away for another morning, when they're not working on mending things.

The days fly by, and not in a bad way. They go on dates (Tony wears the same sunglasses he wore with Peter), and watch movies, and get a real medical team to treat him. Tony practically showers Pepper with expensive bags and clothes, and on a whim buys Peter a new bedroom: proper bunk bed, a functioning computer, and wardrobe with more in it than geeky slogan shirts. He remembers the kid, but doesn't quite know how to broach the subject with Pepper, who doesn't even know who Peter is. He just sends over a note reading _You need to upgrade more than the suit,_ and forgets about it.

For that next week, Tony puts his heart into salvaging what he has with Pepper. For the most part, it works: she smiles when she sees him and pecks him in between phone calls. So when the next weekend comes and she gets an important business call, Tony decides he can turn to other friends, too. Pepper agrees, and nags at him until he calls Happy and breaks the good news to Rhodey.

* * *

Happy and Tony are in the car for maybe an hour before they finally make it to the Avenger's facility.

_This wasn't a good idea._

He fidgets for the whole ride. It's a clear day, but he's starting to wish there were a few clouds in the sky. It's all too bright, too hard to ignore. Happy stares ahead like he knows why Tony keeps adjusting his watch. He hears the faint radio music increase in volume, and knows Happy is thinking of distractions. He's grateful, but he can't bring himself to smile so instead he nods awkwardly at the rear-view mirror and reminds himself that this will be worth it.

Thirty minutes in and he decides he'll grow tentacles before he takes this route again. It's standard and familiar and he _hates_ it because he's hardly even surprised when the tall buildings disappear and trees and meadows take their place. How many times has he driven past them, trading jabs with Rogers on the phone? Smirking each time he pissed Fury off? Grinning at the thought of Wanda mastering new tricks and methods?

Only Rhodey is left now.

Happy turns at a familiar bend and Tony squeezes his eyes shut. The thought shouldn't hurt as much as it does. For God's sake, he _knew_ this was coming, he stared as Natasha walked away and he sighed when F.R.I.D.A.Y. first announced that Vision sometimes turned off his stone now and he literally forced Peter to go home. And he didn't trust anyone on the other side. Of course the facility is empty.

"Boss," Happy asks, and Tony opens his eyes again, "you alright?"

"Uh huh." He's anything but. "Sun's a bit strong for the afternoon."

"You got your shades?"

He does, in fact, have them. Tony slides them on and they pass the remainder of the ride in silence, with only the occasional pothole to remind him that he's not in the city anymore.

* * *

The Compound is pristine.

He's never noticed that before–it's an unabashed replica of what he built all those years ago. It only takes one glance to see that a physics major designed this thing–it's stone and steel with traces of vibranium–and another glance tells you that physics major was a Stark, because only a Stark insists on sticking their ultra-secret team logo on their headquarters. It's pretentious, Tony knows. But it's badass. Screw the fact that hardly anyone still operates under that name. It's one small comfort amid the assault of bad memories.

Maybe the sun really is too bright. Or the day's humid. But Tony's thoughts are anything but nice and the air feels heavy with the weight of them–it's pressing against him, and he wants it to stop. There's a clearing where he and Rogers chopped wood, a shooting range more Barton's than anyone else's, and the training grounds where Natasha always won. It gets worse on the inside, because that's where the team lived for almost their entire Avengers career. Tony's sharp, and his lost friends are needy, and those rooms in there are missing nothing–there are minibars and bedrooms and movie rooms and gyms and they've all used every last one. He wonders how many words, how many laughs his mind can remember. His recollections tend to be flawless, especially when he wants to remember them.

_Wanted_ to remember them.

What he does want to remember today is that his best friend is still paralyzed, and Avengers or no Avengers, he has to fix that. Having Bruce would be ideal–Tony doesn't know shit about biology beyond what school forced into his mind–but Bruce is another problem entirely and it's one he can actually ignore, so Tony keeps his shades on and strides into the Compound, letting his swagger lie for him.

Tony Stark, as far as all of S.H.I.E.L.D. is concerned, has never been better.

He finds Rhodey in one of the beds in the medical bay. It's a lot less gloomy than usual: there are fresh flowers on each white nightstand, the curtains are drawn and the whole room is bright and feathery. He wonders if it's at Rhodey's request–all Tony's done is send a few bouquets, and he's thoroughly surprised that they're still here. If it's not Rhodey, then it's some sick welcome orchestrated by the staff, and he doesn't feel welcome at all. He's here for his friend.

"Stark!"

Well. Whatever Tony feels, he's going to hide it.

He swivels left, glad to see that the grin he's thrown up matches the one on his best friend's face.

"Rhodes," Tony says, mimicking his greeting. "Guess I've made it after all. How's your leg?"

"Doesn't feel like one. And neither does the other."

Rhodey stretches his grin as he says it–he wants Tony to hear a joke, but all Tony hears is the disguised strain in Rhodey's voice and his disappointment at the fact that this is the first time they've met and not hugged in years.

God, of _course_ the man's sad, he's just lost both his legs and all the doctors said he'll never walk again. The sick feeling Tony has pushed down returns and pools in his stomach and he struggles to keep talking. He's here to help, sure, but he's not Rhodey's doctor. Rhodey needs someone to throw his jokes back at him.

"Eh, we're all getting old," Tony shrugs, hating himself as he grins. Rhodey is pleased, which means he's pleased too, but–

But he doesn't know _what._

"Love what you've done with the place, by the way. A lot more summery in here."

"Oh, that. Doc said it's easier if I can get at least one vitamin without supplements."

"Vitamin D from under the blanket?"

"Didn't think of that, actually. I'll have to inform him."

Tony doesn't enjoy being here, staring at his paralyzed best friend. The feeling creeps up on him like an itch, he wants to get rid of it.

"Tell you what, you want to go get some real sunshine? I'll wheel you."

"Beats sitting like this."

They spend twenty minutes attempting to get Rhodey into the chair–there's a lot of directing and yelling coming from his friend, and _l__oud_ groaning courtesy of Tony (He hates to think what they sound like from the outside. Probably not very good.) But they at last make it into a semi-decent position, and Tony heaves, and he thanks the skies for motorized wheelchairs. His arms are limp at his sides; he can't imagine wheeling Rhodey for at least another ten minutes. They can finally move, though, so Tony skips ahead to open the doors for Rhodey and he half-shudders, half-sighs as they leave the confines of the Compound.

What he said to Happy wasn't a lie. It truly is sunny–a textbook summer day–and once Tony is rested enough to start wheeling his friend he makes sure to steer clear of any places he recognizes too well. He looks in front of him and realizes it's a lot easier to talk to Rhodey's back than his face.

"You weren't wrong about the light," Rhodey ventures. It's hard to tell how he feels from behind, but Tony guesses by his voice that he's making conversation. "It's a nice day."

"Hm," Tony replies.

Then, "Cut the crap, Rhodes. How are you really?"

"That quick? You can't enjoy the sun?"

"I want to know how you've been. It's not much to ask."

Rhodey sighs. "Great." Tony momentarily stops pushing the chair, and Rhodey goes, "No, _really,_ I'm serious. The med team's nice, and the Compound's alright. It's not a bad place to stay 'til I get better."

Tony perks up. "Wait. You're going to get better?"

"They mean my chest. I'm not walking."

"You know, I've been looking at these studies for nerve cells–"

_"Tony–"_

"I get it, though! I can work something out for you, have you walk again–"

"Tony." Rhodey slams the control panel and lurches forward, then turns around to face him. "For the last time, you're a physics major. Even _Bruce_ couldn't get this."

"First of all, Bruce has been gone for _years–"_

"Well, I don't want to be healed. Let's leave it at that."

Tony freezes, and stares. And remembers the quiet desperation in Rhodey's eyes when they first brought him back. His strained voice.

"Don't bullshit me, Rhodey," he spits.

"I wouldn't," his friend answers easily, "and you'd know. I like this chair. I don't want you tearing yourself apart to get rid of it."

He tries again. "Let me try. Just try. If there's a chance I can fix this mess–" his voice cuts off, and he can't continue. He really *has* looked it up, nerve endings and transduction and stem cells, and it _makes sense_. He's got a shot if he tries.

Rhodey looks at him in dismay. "Fix...? _God,_ it wasn't your fault. It wasn't anyone's."

That's debatable. Wilson definitely helped. But Tony's the one who aggravated him; and Tony led the opposition. And he's also the man behind the War Machine suit. Did he actually forget to put safety measures for falling?

No, he just thought his programming was flawless. And his best friend is paying for it.

"Just–let me try, alright?" He caves in and pleads–why the *hell* is he pleading to help Rhodey? It doesn't matter–he's got to try. "Can't get any worse."

"One condition."

"Shoot."

"You put this away for another day and tell me about yourself. How _you've_ been."

It's definitely a much better proposition than the ones Tony expected. They shake hands on it, and though he doesn't bring it up again, his mind is racing.

* * *

They're still outside at sunset. That's something like four hours and Tony is proud he's managed to steer them clear of the Compound for that long. They don't even linger too long in front of the wall with the giant 'A'.

He's proud because he's also keeping his promise to Rhodey–that's _two_ promises in under twenty-four hours, _take that, past Tony Stark_–and he's talking about Siberia and Pepper and everyday things, so it's quite healthy, too. Rhodey asked him how he's been, but Tony's not one for feelings so he talks about what he's doing and what happens these days instead, and knows his friend will understand. Rhodey laughs right along with him, and tries to clap him on the back when he announces Pepper Potts is living in Stark Tower again, but he can't exactly stand up so he awkwardly hits Tony's forearm and it's still sweet. His friend is happy, he thinks, and Tony is the same; his laughter sounds like a goddamn firework, all sudden and unexpected. Pepper is calm, kind, safe–being with her is like being wrapped in a blanket–but Rhodey is loud and bold, as all best friends are, and makes him feel like the man he pretends to be.

"And how was she?" Rhodey asks, when Tony first tells him.

"You know what she's like. Pissed at first, and I talked until it was okay."

"Come on, Stark, you've got to give me more than that."

Tony frowns, raises an eyebrow. "Am I missing something? Are we in college again? Because you sound like a frat boy."

Rhodey laughs. "If it makes you talk, sure. You just got back with your _ex._ You don't have anything to say about it?"

For a second, Tony wants to provide another witty retort. But it's Pepper. He's never able to tell her how much he loves her without feeling naked and weird. He might as well take the chance and talk now.

He's not giving Rhodey ammunition, though.

So he keeps his voice completely level as he says, "There's nothing to say. She's like always. She's kind, smart. Better than me. She spent our break reading, and she made Stark Industries, like, a thousand times better. She's perfect. But she looks older."

"Older? Like wrinkles?"

"No, no." Tony thinks about it. "It's her eyes. They're this dark blue now, darker than before, and her stares are deeper. It's like she's seen some stuff."

"It was _some_ break for the two of you."

* * *

When the sun starts to sink into the horizon, Rhodey stops smiling for a second.

"Tony, can I get real with you for a minute?"

_There it is._ That nagging sick feeling is roused and he inwardly curses the way his heart beats faster.

"'Course."

"The others. What happened to them? After... you know."

Oh, Tony _knows._ A bit too well.

"Well." He figures he might as well get the worst out the way. "Cap, Romanoff and Barnes are AWOL. Disappeared off the face of the planet and Ross is tearing himself apart to find them. The others are in the Raft."

"The Raft?"

"It's this enormous jail they made for us." Tony thinks bitterly about how exhausted he was, reading the Accords, how his eyes glazed over a few lines. "They were never going to let us retire. Nope, they were going to throw us into torture chambers."

Rhodey sits up straighter, muscles tense. "Torture chambers."

Tony shrugs. "Might as well be. They don't have rights in there. No suits, no powers. They're all neutralized. They just wait to leave." He knows he should leave it there. But something pushes him on. "Lang and Barton's families have no idea what's happening. And, Wanda–they put this–"

Tony stops and chokes and can hardly continue.

For God's sake, why is he still here? Why isn't he there, breaking them out; and why isn't he in Washington burning Ross' house down? Why didn't he _read,_ why didn't he think and maybe assume Rogers had a point before supporting a man that had only ever wanted to see their tower burn? Why isn't he there?

Well. That's laughably simple. He isn't there because Rhodey is here and Pepper is back home and Ross knows at least one of those facts to be true. Saving his old friends is noble, but it's a death sentence.

He thinks Rhodey gets it. He stays silent for a few minutes, taking in Tony's strangled words and white face, and his eyes go hard.

"We'll get Ross back for this," he murmurs. "Not now, but we will. And it's not your fault. Nothing is."

That's just what everyone keeps saying, isn't it?

When Tony can't find it in him to answer; only stare back, Rhodey glances up and Tony can only assume he's trying to change the subject.

"What about the kid?"

"The kid?"

"Yeah. Some teenager in a red costume. You brought him in to fight Cap–"

"Oh, you mean Spiderman?"

"If that's what he calls himself, I guess. Kid's got some moves."

Tony's still hung up over the Raft, but he inadvertently smiles, thinking of Peter crazy ideas during battle. It's good that Rhodey finds him impressive–Tony thought so too, and Happy has since stopped doubting him. Peter is quite possibly the most decent thing to come out of his fight with Rogers.

"Who is he, by the way?" Rhodey asks. "Actually, how'd you find a kid like him?"

"He's on Youtube." Tony lets the words fly off his tongue. "Not sure I can give you his name, though. He's a bit iffy about that."

It's not very polite, but Tony knows Rhodey of all people will understand. He's a hero too, after all.

"Makes sense. So how's he doing?"

Tony thinks of Peter and at last allows himself a small smile. "He's great, actually. I sent him back home after the airport–he didn't want to go, but he was pretty sweet through it all."

"Sounded like he was having the time of his life with us."

"You think?" Rhodey snorts, and Tony's smile grows. "Kid's been dreaming of this moment for _months._ He would have hugged Rogers if I wasn't there, I think. He thought me sending him away was the worst thing I've ever done. He really wants to be an Avenger. Like, _really."_

"S'cute."

"Well, the title's a bit meaningless now. But yeah. It's cute."

Peter is so childlike it's disconcerting. He likes legos and Star Wars and Disney–he used a battle strategy from _Empire Strikes Back,_ of all things–and he's outgoing and curious and looks at his aunt like she's the sunrise on a December morning. He pretends he's older than he really is and is awful when he tries to lie, and he does silly things like vlog his trip to Germany and speak in a barely-intelligible Midguardian accent. He's everything Tony knows teens _aren't._ Or maybe Tony's comparing Peter to his own teenage self a little too much. Teenage Tony Stark is the embodiment of _kid who grew up too fast._

That's not to say Pete isn't smart. The Empire attack was... novel, to say the least. But it was undeniably genius. He's built computers and web-shooters with literal trash, treated himself after the spider-bite without medicine, and masqueraded as Spiderman for _months_ without being found. And he's still top student at Midtown Tech, which is saying something when all your classmates are science nerds. He probably _would_ have won the Stark Internship, if anything about that story had been true.

"So how'd he get back home, then?" Rhodey asks. Tony snaps out of his reverie. "Quinjet?"

"No, Happy and I dropped him off. He's not far from here."

Tony says his response almost flippantly. It's the truth, after all. It takes a minute of silence for him to sharpen his gaze and realize Rhodey is staring.

"What?"

"Tony Stark _personally_ takes a kid home?"

Tony shifts his weight. "Something wrong with that?"

Rhodey smiles warmly. "It's not that it's wrong. Just... not your usual style. You're more of a help-from-afar kind of guy. And with all the crap with Steve..."

The unfinished sentence lingers, and Tony doesn't know why, but he's unnerved. He shoves his hands into his pockets so he can flex his fingers.

"What with Rogers?"

"Nothing. Just that you were in a tight spot. That kid must have been something for you to go home with him."

Tony relaxes, and tries not to let it show. "Yeah, he's great. You and Pepper would love him."

"Any chance we'll see him again soon?"

Leave it to Peter, and the answer would be a hard yes. But Tony shrugs, smiling, and sees something twinkle in Rhodey's eye. He doesn't understand what it is, but he likes where the conversation has ended, so he doesn't probe. It's dark now, so as much as Tony hates it, he wheels his friend back toward the Compound, which thankfully only resembles a dilapidated warehouse in the dark. The wheels creak as the doors slide open and Tony strides within, keeping his eyes trained on the back of Rhodey's head. Without warning he makes a beeline for the labs–those, if anything, belong to Tony alone (And maybe Bruce, too, but God knows where that guy is.)

He imagines Rhodey is raising an eyebrow, but opts to say nothing. If they really have to remain here, they're going to be useful.

* * *

They're not useful. Not in the slightest.

Tony has asked F.R.I.D.A.Y. to pull up every bit of research there is on the nervous system and partial paralysis. The holograms are scattered all across the walls, some enlarged and some flicked far against the windows; their blue glow the only source of light. Rhodey has protested–several times–but Tony has conveniently forgotten how to speak English.

_"Tony, we talked about this. We're leaving it for later."_

_"Sì, perché non ti ho mai mentito prima."_

_"Don't go Italian on me, Stark."_

_"Dirò qualunque cosa diavolo voglio e non puoi fermarmi."_

_"You're cursing me out, aren't you?"_

_"Sì."_

_"That's fair."_

Tony thought he had won. Rhodey droned on about how stupid this all was, while Tony absentmindedly nodded and read about synapses and nerve impulses. He had stumbled on something intriguing: nerves carried charges with specific voltages, and the charge changed with direction and purpose. He's a physicist. This is all _his_ domain. He just needs to figure out why nucleic acids make good conductors, and what myelin sheaths are made of. And then fit it all into a wire thinner than human hair. Simple.

But two hours later, at eight in the evening, that's exactly all he has done. He has stared at the white text and thought _this works in some way_ and he can't even begin to theorize what that way is. Rhodey is sitting with crossed arms and grinning, and Tony wants to claw his eyes out.

"You know," he says, blinking slowly at some section about the all-or-none principle, "Bruce should get more credit. A _lot_ of credit. Screw biology."

"Well, if you're done being stupid–"

"Done for now–"

"You wanna talk about normal stuff?"

Initially, Tony wants to quip _what the hell is normal stuff these days?_ but instead, he concedes, and asks his A.I. to choose something fun from the movie library. The two dozen holograms are shunted aside, where they promptly evaporate into blue dust, and instead one of the walls doubles as a screen. Rhodey is already comfortably seated, so Tony settles himself in one of the rigid work chairs as Back To The Future begins to play. He catches Rhodey smiling, and thinks inexplicably of Peter seeing the Iron Man suit for the first time.

They don't do much for the next two hours. But Rhodey keeps commenting on the movie, grinning; and Tony thinks not doing much might have been worth it.

* * *

When he sees Pepper again–at midnight, and she's waiting for him, with unimpressed eyes–he realizes his chest isn't purple anymore. So he takes her hand and they twist into a twirl, and nothing can beat the ringing of her laughter.

* * *

**It's a bit of a filler, isn't it? I feel like it could have been better, so I do apologize if it's boring. I promise, though, that Peter will 100% show up in the next chapter! also, the fluff ambush y'all are getting won't last very long. enjoy it while it does *smirks***

**ALSO! A translation of what Tony said, because I read some headcanon somewhere that he would have learned Spanish and Italian from his nannies and RAN WITH IT:**

_**"Yes, because I never lied to you before."**_

_**"I'll say whatever the hell I want and you can't stop me. "**_

_**"Yup."**_

**ahh, I just love my sassy genius boy. Again, I apoligize if you guys expected better. Better will come, I promise! Please follow, favorite, and please please review because reviews are like heaven-sent blessings to me and help me improve. Until Friday!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Woo hoo! its Friday and I had ISSUES with this chapter because a good portion of it was induced by last night inspirations. But its here, it's ridiculously long (That's cool, right? a long chapter?) and MY BOY PETE MADE IT! Albeit in a flashback, but still. Also season three of Stranger Things is out and I wanna cry because it's so beautiful. but anyways.**

**I wanted to thank you all for the incredible response this story has had. It's been, what? three chapters? and I have forty followers. FORTY. That's more than I've ever had, that's insane! I'm glad you're all loving it as much as I am!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

_"Remember your youth in all that you do_

_The plank and the passion_

_They were the best of times" _

-Old Fashioned, Panic! At The Disco

Biology _sucks._

Rhodey knows it. Pepper knows it. Hell, even F.R.I.D.A.Y. knows it.

And yet Tony has the undeniable urge to say it again.

"Fri? I hate biology."

"Noted, sir," his A.I. cheerily replies. "For the fifth time this morning, might I add."

Tony shoots the speakers a glare, and mutters something about debugging her later today. F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s so goddamn _sarcastic._

"Any chance you could plug these files into my brain, instead? Because _shit._"

He lifts his head up and pushes back from the metal surface of his desk, the swivel chair taking him to the center of the room. He has lived and breathed neurology for the past week and a half, consulting research papers and medical texts and even Wikipedia. The penthouse lab is for once completely clean–all of Tony's projects (i.e. wires braided together when he was absolutely _hammered)_ are in deep storage or discarded–and the wide, airy room feels smaller under the shadows caused by the dozens of blue holograms he's put up. They're the pages Tony has deemed important enough to bookmark, and the information on them ranges from silly things like _nerves carry electric charges called impulses_ on BBC Kids to a list of every neurotransmitter and their second cousin and their function on some online college course website.

Physics, coding, math–that's _okay._ His lectures at MIT were the highlight of his college years. It was a three-step plan: you learned the formula; you _applied_ the formula. Repeat as desired.

Life sciences, though, just _were._ Fluids swapped places and cells mutated and hormones were secreted depending on half a dozen variables and probably your zodiac sign. The only thing Tony can remember that rivalled the randomness of biology is time itself. It only serves to prove that Hulk and Bruce are on the same level of insanity. Banner certainly has Tony's respect, but now he also has Tony's complete and utter confusion. What kind of guy dedicated _seven Phds_ to life sciences?

Suffice it to say, his attempt at manufacturing neurons is headed nowhere. Tony almost pouts, staring at his lab. It's freezing–the air conditioning has been on for three days, he thinks–and dark with the blue shadows that tower over him. Initially, he hoped clearing those pathetic excuses for projects would help him think, but now, the lab feels... empty. Like Tony has failed it somehow. It's definitely seen more exciting days than this. Now, the only life he's got here comes from Dum-E, who faithfully rams himself into any and all tables within a ten-foot radius. Tony isn't sure if it's on purpose or not–after all, Dum-E is a very primitive A.I. who likes it when Tony laughs–but he scoffs and teases his friend all the same, noting that he should look over his circuits in the evening. Or maybe not. He enjoys his robot's antics right now.

It's calming, sitting up here. The lab is the only part of Stark Tower that isn't crawling with whispers and laughter from the past. It's just his and Bruce's (mostly his), and only Pepper and his bots visit. Downstairs, the penthouse is an unfair gamble. And it's not rigged in his favour: no matter how soothing Pepper makes her voice, how gently she strokes his hair, _they're_ standing there with the two of them, their absence amplified by the aching silence. Sometimes they're laughing. Sometimes yelling. But mostly they're just talking–mundane phrases like _where's the coffee_ and _turn on the news,_ everyday formalities Tony might never enjoy again. He doesn't tell Pepper. She's still getting to know him. One wrong phrase and he sounds like a desperate schizophrenic and she'll be scared away.

Tony's hearing voices. It's nothing big.

Everyone hears things, anyways. Just because they're human voices doesn't make it more creepy. He thinks so, at least.

Another thing he likes about the lab. Only F.R.I.D.A.Y., Dum-E and a couple of stray bots come up here (or talk here, in the case of F.R.I.D.A.Y.). And, well, Tony doesn't want to imply that they're inferior. But they sort of exist because of him. Meaning, he can say and do whatever he wants up here and at most be chastised by by his A.I.. He can read facts about neurons until sunrise, and drink an entire week's worth of wine in one night, and test exploding machinery with ease. If Pepper ever asks, F.R.I.D.A.Y. is unavailable. He isn't sure how much his A.I. likes this current situation, but he wouldn't trade it for the world. He gets to keep his girlfriend, he gets to keep creating, and he gets to keep his coping methods–which, by the way, are hurting_ no-one_. Plus, the machines around him are just as bad at feelings as he is. They snark and trade jabs and do household chores, but they were never programmed with emotions.

_It's a trait they've got from daddy._ So on the rare occasion Tony has a breakdown or throws a fit up here, they stay silent. When he asks F.R.I.D.A.Y. to steer him to the nearest fridge, she only slightly objects.

He loves his lab. It's certainly helpful now, when he's slowly falling apart trying to study neurology.

"Sir?" F.R.I.D.A.Y. interrupts his thinking, sounding almost apprehensive. "Miss Potts is en route to the penthouse as we speak."

Tony simply nods. Then his eyes widen, and he realizes who is coming and frantically looks around. "Shit!"

"F.R.I., delete half of the pages."

"Which half, sir?"

"Any, goddamn it! If Pepper–"

His words die as he hears the unmistakeable click of high heels headed in his direction. Before he can turn back and check what F.R.I.D.A.Y. has done, Pepper veers into the room, smiling; and Tony crosses his fingers and prays she won't kill him. The room is significantly brighter, which calms him, but he now remembers he had over fifty pages open up here. Even if F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s followed his orders, the number of active holograms goes from _worth exploding over_ to _mildly concerning._

_She's going to ask she's going to ask she's going to ask–_

"Hey, Tony." She speaks kindly, which is reassuring. "What's with the twenty-something pages?"

Tony forces himself not to wince, and instead looks at his girlfriend with a smile in his eyes. "Morning. It's just some research I'm into."

He walks over and pecks her on the cheek, hoping it distracts her.

It doesn't.

"Really? So soon? What's it about?"

Tony practically begs himself to chill. She's not asking out of malice. It's obvious she's just a lady interested in her boyfriend's line of work. Completely normal.

"It's pretty boring stuff, Pep. You sure you don't want to stuff your ears with cotton instead?"

"Well, you can _try_ telling me. I found the arc reactor to be pretty interesting."

Tony internally curses the sky and everything under it. Three and a half billion women and he picks the one who's going to force him to make healthy decisions?

It's not that he doesn't like Pepper. Tony adores her and he will stand by that statement until the universe crumbles. She knows him best–both from his _wasted-CEO-who-talks-too-much_ past and his _slightly-less-wasted-not-CEO-who-talks-even-more_ present. Only Rhodey has known him longer. And despite that she cares for him and does sweet things like bake cakes and throw his sarcasm back in his face; and she truly wants this to work because it's been nearly a month since he broke down before her at midnight and she's still here. Tony smiles shakily when he considers this. He can't wrap his head around it just yet.

But that's the problem. Pepper _cares._

People don't believe Tony when he says he doesn't remember his CEO days very well. After all, those were his 'glory' days, when Stark Industries was at its all-time high and the world wasn't yet used to crazy technology. They often assume that he's deflecting, but it's the one time he's not lying. Most of his earlier years slipped past him in a drunken blur, all noisy and colorful. His only clear-cut recollections are from when he was building–whether that was the Jericho, the arc reactor, or his first ever armor in that cave. He just let the directors do what he wanted and he drank when when they wanted nothing. Those in power couldn't care less, and Pepper, who hardly approved, was only a secretary back then.

So Tony doesn't remember. But Pepper does. Some days she'll show him photographs and tell him stories so insane he has to call Rhodey to double-check that they're true. And since she remembers, she wants him to stop. Stop drinking (Not happening anytime soon). Stop taking the blame (Yeah, that's not happening either). Stop tinkering after midnight (Okay, he's kind of done that already).

And if she's here, and she sees the two discarded bottles, the twenty or so pages discussing Rhodey, _and_ F.R.I.D.A.Y. mentions that he's been here before sunrise, well.

All that progress they've made goes down the drain.

Pepper must not notice his worry, because she pulls up a chair and sits next to him, humming.

"Hey, this looks cool. You're studying nerve cells now?"

Tony gives a nonchalant nod. Inside he's screaming.

"What's with the sudden inspiration?"

Has she always been so curious? Tony rummages in the back of his mind for an excuse. He settles on a half-truth.

"Haven't been out in a while. Germany sort of opened my mind–there's all these people who can't walk or move because one small wire in their body's cut. They drew the short straw, you know?"

"So you're curing paralysis?"

"I'm working on it."

For a few minutes, Tony dares to think he has her fooled. She grins at the pages near her and even tries to understand one, glancing at him every so often. Tony relaxes.

"And this has nothing to do with your paralyzed friend you met last week."

Never mind, he's not relaxing. He blurts out, "Nope. Zero correlation. And you can't fault me for doing something to help my best friend."

"F.R.I.D.A.Y., how long has Tony been here?"

"Mr. Stark came in at approximately two in the morning, seven hours ago."

Pepper hums. But she's no longer smiling. She stays quiet.

"In my defence," Tony tries, "I couldn't sleep."

"Damn it, Tony! You can't just... _do_ this every time you feel like it. You can't just come in here, and lose sleep and _d__rink–_"

_So she saw the bottles._

"–and hurt yourself because someone who doesn't even matter messed with your head! We've talked, this is what _scares_ me–"

She falls silent, and Tony thinks of how awful he must look to her and wants the ground to swallow him.

"Look," she says, gazing at the ceiling, "I'm not the boss of you."

"Well, considering you're CEO, you kind of _are–_"

Pepper shoots him a glare and he falls silent.

"I know... _this,_" she continues, gesturing at the discarded bottles, "helps calm you down. I won't deny it. But it's scary, Tony. It's scary."

Tony hesitates. Then, on a whim, he thrusts his hand towards her own and squeezes. His chest screams with discomfort, but Pepper smiles at him, so he tries to relax.

"But you can't keep hurting yourself," she continues. Almost pleading. Her eyes are imploring, her eyebrows slightly furrowed. "It's not like Rhodey and I don't want to help. We _want_ to talk to you about it; help you figure it out. But your health's already bad enough as it is. You can't just... drink and skip sleep every time something hurts."

She's right. Always is. But Tony has already processed the fight with Rogers once, the thought of processing it _again–_

"Is it nightmares?"

Tony looks back at her, confused.

"Are you having nightmares again?" Pepper asks, scrutinizing him.

Tony sighs, happy that he can finally answer honestly. They aren't sharing rooms–they both think it's a bit early for that–and naturally Pepper thinks something has happened. "No." He looks Pepper in the eye to prove it. "No nightmares. Just me feeling bad about Rhodey."

It's obvious she wants to start the whole _it isn't your fault_ speech again, but Tony catches her taking a deep breath and fighting the urge.

Tony knows she's right, but he also knows he doesn't want to listen. So he compromises.

"F.R.I?" he asks tentatively. "Could you have someone come clean out the wine cellar tomorrow?"

"Of course, sir."

He turns to Pepper with a hesitant smile. She grins back, with her eyebrows raised.

"You're really going to clear out your alcohol?"

"'Course not. I'll have him take maybe half."

Pepper sighs. "It's a start, I guess. So tell me about this research."

Tony does a double-take. "What happened to hurting myself?"

"You've already started. If this really works out and helps Rhodey, the company might as well use it to help others."

* * *

Pepper wasn't lying. She _is_ interested, staring at Tony's work like it's the New York view from the top of the tower. At least he's both reckless _and_ interesting. He talks in terms of (simplified) science and she discusses business points and how they'll convince shareholders to price it at minimum-wage standards, him praying that maybe talking through it out loud will help him see something new.

They're an hour in when Tony receives an unexpected call from Happy. He moves to ignore it but Pepper's stare convinces him to do otherwise.

"Hap. What's up?"

When Happy talks, his voice is low and strained. "You know that kid you brought to Germany?"

"Peter?" Tony's first thought is that the suit is faulty, and he holds the phone tighter. "Something wrong with him?"

"Only that he won't stop _texting_ me."

Tony breathes again, and works frustration into his voice when he speak again.

"Not to imply this isn't important. But _why_ is it important if the kid texts you?"

"Just get him off me, boss. Kid won't stop sending messages every goddamn day."

Tony mentally does a few calculations. "It's been, what, a month? How come I haven't heard about this before?"

"I thought ignoring the kid would wear him out."

Tony snorts. He hasn't thought of Peter in some time, but the awestruck teenager he remembers does not simply _wear out_. Especially when ghosted.

"Alright," he concedes, giving Pepper a knowing smile. She offers her own, but her eyebrows are raised and Tony realizes she has no idea what's happening. _He'll explain._ "Just forward me the kid's messages and I'll see what I can do."

"Forward...?"

Tony sighs. "There's this little arrow pointing right that you click, on the top bar–"

"–I don't see any arrows–"

"Well, you have to long-press the message first–"

"There _are_ no arrows, Tony–"

"Just long-press the goddamn message–"

It goes back and forth a few times, Happy progressively understanding him less and less. Then Pepper starts to laugh. Tony sees and switches methods; because goddamn it, his girlfriend will _not_ laugh at him in his own lab just because Happy has the mentality of a senior citizen.

"Alright, that's it," he concedes. "I'm hacking your phone."

"Tony Stark _do not hack into my phone–_"

"F.R.I.D.A.Y.?" Tony asks, looking up.

"On it, boss," she replies.

"And I'm in," he says, two minutes later, a replica of Happy's screen shining on his own phone. "I'll handle this now, Hap."

"Tony, un... _hack_ me right now or–"

Tony ends the call.

He relishes the wonderful echo of silence. Except for Pepper. He doesn't think he's ever seen her laugh this much, clipboard buried into her chest and tears threatening to leave her eyes. He grins. Tony's missed being able to pull stupid crap like this and watch his friends utterly _lose it_ watching him. He hasn't heard laughter like this since–

Tony blinks, and turns his gaze to the phone clutched in his hand. He might as well use the time and read whatever Peter has sent. He offhandedly wonders how many messages it really could have been. He scrolls through the recent conversations, imagining how he'll make fun of Happy when he sees the empty chat and–

Okay, Tony does _not_ expect to see three hundred unread messages.

_God, kid._ He's almost scared to open it but he does, noting that the first slew of texts were sent a month ago, back in August. The night after Tony had dropped him off.

_Morning, Happy._

_I was just wondering when the next mission will be._

_Berlin was awesome, by the way. Tell Mr. Stark thanks for taking me._

_And thanks for dropping me off._

_It's Peter, by the way._

_Peter Parker._

"Wow, kid, you ever been warned about the dangers of double-texting?" Tony asks, mostly to himself. Pepper, who has composed herself, looks over his shoulder and hums appreciatively.

"Whoever that is, he's got the best grammar of any teenager I've ever seen."

"Yeah, he's probably trying to impress me."

"Impress–?" Pepper narrows her eyes, and takes the liberty of scrolling farther down. "Tony, who is this kid?"

Tony doesn't answer. He's staring at one of the messages sent a few days later, after Happy failed to reply.

_Tell Mr. Stark I'm sorry about the hug, too._

_I didn't mean to make things weird._

Pepper calls his name again, her voice streaked with worry.

Tony tries to answer. Really. But he's back in the Audi, and it's past midnight and Peter is waving slowly from the curb–red undertone to his skin, wide eyes, tight smile as he tries to hide his embarrassment. He's staring at the one regret he doesn't yet have and he's waving back, and he can't seem to sit right in his chair. He's asking Happy for his opinion and sighing far too much when Happy grunts back.

He's remembering Peter's eyes, _vividly,_ and thinking of his teenage self.

"Peter Parker? Is that his name?"

Pepper's question drags him into the present. Tony inhales sharply and turns to his girlfriend, who is definitely concerned now, with her raised brows and faltering stare.

_She can't know he's Spiderman._

Tony gives her a small smile and goes, "Yep. That's him."

"And... why does Happy have a teenager saved in his contacts?"

Tony tries not to panic. He'll tell her the same lie he told May, that's all.

"You know the September grant?" After Pepper nods, he continues. "Well, kid applied. I checked him out, and he was off the charts. A crazy little genius. You know he's a sophomore, but he's in senior honors classes? He's outdoing his entire school and he's in every science club that's ever existed."

Pepper gives him a strange smile. "What happened to no interns?"

"Come on, give me a break. He's not just a regular _kid,_ Pep. This guy understands the physics they teach at MIT. He'll be something big."

"Sounds like you."

Tony throws her an incredulous glance and leans sideways, almost touching her. He doesn't let on that the thought scares him, makes his insides twist even though he barely knows the kid. "You think so?"

"Maybe. So how does Tony Stark meet a teen intern, then?"

Tony initially hesitates; considers telling her he and Peter only e-mailed one another. But Pepper's sharp. She's no prodigy, but three hundred messages on a private Whatsapp chat mean _something. _And it isn't like Germany is incriminating. He already has the reputation for doing the wrong thing at the wrong time. As long as Peter is safe at home–and he is, otherwise Happy or the A.I. would say something–the most Pepper will do is roll her eyes.

So he closes his eyes, and thinks of landing in Germany. The memory doesn't hurt.

* * *

"You're serious? You've _never_ been on a plane?"

"I mean, I went to the airport a couple times to say bye to Ned when he travelled. But a plane is like, a spaceship to me."

"Wow. And I mean it."

Tony leans back in his chair, watching as Peter continues to blabber about how amazing Tony's private jet is.

"Mr. Stark, this is _so_ cool. You've got like, your own chairs, your own storage and minibar–"

"Which you will _not_ be touching or Aunt Hottie kills me–"

"Yeah, yeah I know, but it's still so cool. It's like riding a ship from Star Wars."

"It is?" Tony asks.

Happy, who has a sleeping mask on, mutters, "Don't encourage him."

Peter, who is very encouraged, goes, "Yeah! Well, not architecturally. But like, the autopilot, and it's small enough that only a small group of people ride, and we're _flying..._"

He trails off, with a slightly dreamy look in his eyes, and Tony chuckles. "Not to contradict you, kid, but I think you're just excited about this plane."

Peter doesn't say anything. He just nods, and Tony chuckles again. Then Peter sees the thrusters and his eyes go impossibly wide, and he asks whether the arc reactor technology can be applied to planes, and Happy groans, and Tony grins and talks science.

**...**

"Now, the landing's a little harsh, so I'd hold on if I were you."

Tony watches with a smirk as Peter has what looks like a death grip on his armrest, eyes fixed on the Berlin Tegel airport outside. Tony doesn't think much of it–usually he skips airports and and uses the stealth mode on his quinjet–but he figures it can't hurt to do things legally with the kid. The plane lands, a soft grunt escaping Peter as they bounce across the runway, but that's quickly replaced by awe as Peter takes in yet another thing Tony can't even begin to guess. They're lucky enough that they don't go through security, and instead some beefy man checks their luggage and proclaims them safe for entry. Happy carries the bags and they make a beeline for the limousine Tony has hired, Peter following closely and talking, though Tony doesn't really know to who.

"This is so cool! Weather's great, and the airport's kinda far, but I'm sure we can walk there; there's some guy who's ordered an _epic_ limo–"

"Uh, Pete?"

"Yeah, sir?"

"That limo's for us."

Peter pauses and stares. "What?"

He's frozen until Tony and Happy get inside, then he all but sprints to join them, practically yelling entire time.

"Holy _shit_ we're riding a limousine, this is awesome, Mr. Stark thank you so much–"

"Catch your breath, kid."

Peter flushes. "Right. Thank you, sir."

"Don't mention it." The car begins to move, and Peter stares at the outside in wonder the entire time. Tony doesn't _need_ a limo, truth be told. But he's dragging this kid into a fight, so he might as well make it feel better than it will be. He's planning to drop Peter and Happy off at the hotel, then slink away to add the final touches to the new Spiderman suit, ready to intercept Captain America and his entourage tomorrow morning. Natasha has done her homework and traced them to the Flughafen Leipzig-Halle airport–in fact, the rest of his team should be either here or on their way. Tony hasn't yet told them about Peter (Just that he's bringing backup), and he wants things to stay that way for as long as possible.

They ride in relative silence for twenty minutes, Happy flicking through his phone and Peter never once glancing away from the windows, until the kid breaks the silence.

"Mr. Stark? Not to bother you or anything, but I still don't know why I'm here."

"Didn't I tell you?"

"Not really. You just said we were going to fight a couple bad guys in Germany."

Tony thinks back to their last conversation about the matter. _So it is._ "I guess you're right," he says, sighing. He cracks a smile when Peter curls a little into himself–_damn it, Pepper's told you to stop sighing so much_–and continues. "You ever heard of the Sokovia Accords, kid?"

Peter surprises him when he gravely says, "Yeah. Everyone at school's talking about them. They say that superhero work has to be government-mandated, right?"

_And a whole load of other crap, too,_ Tony thinks, but at least the kid has the gist of it. He nods, then asks, "And what do you think of them?"

It's a good thing the government has not revealed who signed and who hasn't. Peter respects Tony–the man knows that much–and he's not sure the kid would be completely honest if he knew Tony's feelings. Peter remains silent for some time and crosses his arms, eyes glazed as Tony watches him think.

A few minutes later, Peter says, "It sounds about right."

Tony has to fight to keep his face neutral. Quietly, he grinds out, "You think so? I thought you teenagers were obsessed with action figures and superpowers."

Peter frowns, and stares at Tony like he's grown a second head. "Um, no. Little kids are like that. But yeah, superhero regulation doesn't sound so bad. Like for example, I remember in 2012, I had to take a new path to school for _weeks,_ because my train got destroyed in the fight. And a bunch of my friends had to move houses because of it."

Tony shifts in his seat and looks up at the ceiling. Peter notices, because he goes, "Oh God, Mr. Stark, I don't mean it like that, obviously you guys were–are–incredible! You stopped Loki, Ultron, if anything I'm alive and so is New York because you did–"

"Chill, kid. I'm not mad."

"O-Oh. Oh." Peter takes a minute to process this, and in his peripheral vision Tony sees his sudden flush melting away. "Then, yeah, sir. And it's not just that; at least New York has it kind of okay. We're rich, we can rebuild, you know? The other places... they don't always have that kind of money. People die and they don't have the ability to fix it."

Tony's been avoiding eye contact, but now he turns to stare at the kid. _God, he gets it better than anyone else on this team_. Tony is fighting to get Cap to see things properly, and a goddamn _kid_ analyzes a situation he's not even part of on his own and comes out with an answer that makes sense. He doesn't want to scare Peter, but he can't stop staring. Peter gives him an awkward smile, and mumbles, "And it'd be nice if other things were treated as important, too."

He probably didn't mean for it, but Tony catches the phrase and asks Peter to elaborate. When the teenager gives him a hesitant look, Tony goes, "Come on, kid. I won't bite."

Peter takes a deep breath. "It's just... you know how–and this is not just the Avengers–you know how superheros sort of just choose when they want to fight and when they don't?"

Tony nods, intrigued.

"Well, sometimes, important stuff happens. Like a gang comes in, or there's a car crash, or something. And heroes, they don't do anything, because it's not S.H.I.E.L.D. or HYDRA or intergalactic killers. And _then_ people die and no one rescues them. If someone could maybe tell them when the other things mattered, maybe that would be nicer."

Tony's eyes soften. There is a story behind that little speech, he can tell. Peter has readily confessed that a spider bit him; handed over the formula for the webbing and his patrol schedule. But there was one subject he avoided.

His first day as Spiderman.

_Deflect. Distract. Cheer him up._

"Well, kid," Tony says suddenly, startling Peter. "Lucky for you, I like your answer. The Avengers were meant to sign the Accords a couple days back, but not everyone agreed with them."

"You're saying some Avengers... _didn't_ sign, sir?"

"Nope. Guess they aren't as smart as you." Peter blushes, and Tony takes it as a win. "Some of them think it's too restrictive. Some names you'll recognize are Cap, the Falcon, the Scarlet Witch, I think? And they probably have backup."

"Cap, _Captain America?_ I'm fighting him?"

Tony freezes and fixes Peter with the worst glare he can manage. "No, you are _not,_ under any circumstances, to fight him until I say so, alright? I'm hoping we can talk this out and it blows over. You're here to help _if_ things get out of hand. I don't need you getting hurt. Got it?"

"Yep. Crystal clear." Peter's voice is distinctly higher.

Tony relaxes into his chair. "Great. Now, we're nearly there, so I'm going to tell you what to do if you _do _fight."

* * *

It plays out, nearly flawless, in his head; but it's not what he tells Pepper. At least not most of it–he's been improvising their limo conversation for nearly fifteen minutes, twisting it from a _here's who you'll fight_ sequence to _I can't join you because_ I _need__ to fight._ She takes it well, and doesn't need to ask for more details. She knows what happens after Tony supposedly leaves Peter at the hotel.

"He does sound very promising," she concedes. "So where'd he go?"

At least this lie is easy. Tony invents some renewable energy conference and says Peter attended in his place while he fought the Avengers, and she readily believes him.

"So what are you going to do about all the messages?"

Tony isn't sure. He quickly skims through them–it's all the same monologue, _when's the next mission, thank you for the suit, I'm Peter._ And also _sorry about the hug. _Peter seems fixated on that last one.

He doesn't _think_ he should reply. Peter is a promising kid, best left untainted by someone like Tony Stark. He has the suit, he has the motive; all he has to do is just be a superhero, and he's contending with it wonderfully. True, his neighbourhood is dingy and run-down, but May Parker lives with him, and Tony can tell she truly cares about her nephew. He remembers trying to look anywhere but her sharp eyes as she grilled him, words clipped and sharp and laced with venom; nearly reconsidering his plan when Peter walked in and she beamed at him like the sunrise. He didn't want to risk someone she loves so much dying. He's lucky Peter is doing so well.

But there's always another side to the coin. Tony always assumed Peter's admiration was more professional than personal–after all, May clearly detests him and opinions run in families. When you've never left the country, _any_ plane, Stark or otherwise, is worth looking at twice. But all these texts; Peter doesn't have to send them.

And yet he has.

Maybe Peter really admires him.

If that's true, Tony can't ignore him. Nothing is more devastating than your idol ignoring you. Tony would know. Nothing he did was ever enough–not for Howard, not for Steve, not for the world. And it's turned him bitter, and drunk, and more than a little rude. A mind set at overdrive without stimulation; that's a ticking bomb. Tony hopes he's not the one detonating it. He thinks again of Peter so obviously admonishing himself for something that wasn't even wrong.

"Well?" Pepper asks. "He seems pretty nice to me. We can have him come work with the other scientists, if he's that good."

"I–" Tony pauses. He can't get that torn look out of his mind. Didn't he promise himself to ask Pepper? He did, didn't he?

_Screw it._ He looks Pepper in the eye and tells her about the short ride to Peter's house, slow at first then quickly gaining momentum as the Audi nears Peter's block. How he discovered Peter wasn't talking to himself after all, but to a little camera. How his eyes lit up in wonder, then in disbelief when Tony casually told him to keep using the new su- keep the _research _from the conference. How he somehow managed to tune out Happy's grumbling as the man unloaded his luggage. How he naturally assumed he and Tony were already so close, and Tony rejected the hug far too quickly.

How he frowned, awkward and uneasy and hiding it, and Tony had seen a flicker of himself in Peter's wide eyes.

Pepper listens. For an indiscernible reason, she seems almost proud of Tony, flashing him a knowing smile. When Tony ends his little tale with, _So I don't know if I should have just done it for the kid_, she takes his hands.

"Well, I personally would have gone for it," Pepper starts, and Tony cringes, _of course I should have done it._

"_But,_" she continues, "that's me. It's definitely not something I can see you doing. I don't think he'll take it personally. He's just a sciency kid who really wants to impress his boss, and that's his way of showing it. I'd answer the texts if I were you, because there's so many. But I don't think he's constantly beating himself up over it or anything."

Tony considers her words. "You're sure?"

"I guarantee it."

"You know, honey? Sometimes I really, really love you."

Tony keeps scrolling through the messages for a good portion of the night. He reads every message until his eyes glaze over. Peter is safe–that much is true, or the suit A.I. would say something–but it wouldn't hurt to learn what Peter actually does. A week ago Peter swapped double-texting for long voice messages that Tony is too tired to listen to. Maybe he can go through them in the morning while he works on Rhodey's legs (A pretty big maybe, considering he can't figure out nerves. But _damn it_ Tony would try.) He looks out the penthouse window and has an idea.

"Hey, F.R.I.D.A.Y.? Can you tell me what Underoos is doing right now?"

"I believe he is monitoring a jewellery shop on Fifth Avenue."

Tony hums in appreciation. Then checks the time. "He's _what?_ It's past midnight! Tell him to go home!"

"A splendid idea, sir, but the artificial intelligence placed in Mr. Parker's suit is barred by the Training Wheels protocol."

Right, that thing. Tony rubs his eyes and tells F.R.I.D.A.Y. to sleep, looking at Peter's messages in dismay.

Screw it, he'll yell at the kid himself.

* * *

**Someone please teach me how to cool it with the dialogue. PLEASE. **

**Anyways, I'm a bit on the fence with this chapter but I'm mostly glad it's over (because OH BOY the things one writes at 2AM are quite exciting) and I'm generally pleased with it. Please follow and favorite and review, and I'll be back next Friday, because I regrettably did not write three chapters this week.**

**Love, Mariam**


	5. Chapter 5

**I'M RIDICULOUSLY LATE BUT I AM HERE AND I HAVE A SUPER LONG CHAPTER!**

**Sorry about the delay! I'm pretty proud of this one though! Also! WE'VE REACHED FIFTY FOLLOWERS!**

**Well. Fifty four. Which is even more amazing! Thank you all so much for loving this little story as much as I do, and for literally inspiring me to get up and actually write it. Also, since we have many more followers, it's a perfect time to remember that none of this would be possible without my incredible friend Mia, who gave the ultimate time management advice and really motivated me to work on this. Her username is herecomesthepun, and please please please check her out because her Percy Jackson stories have the best Percabeth I have ever read in my life! I especially recommend her story iSpy!**

**Enjoy our first bout of Irondad and Spiderson!**

* * *

_"Faith is in our hands_

_Castles made of sand_

_No more guessing, no regrets." _

-Sun Is Shining, Axwell & Ingrosso

New York is a breathtaking sight. It twinkles around and below him, so ridiculously movie-like it's sort of obnoxious. Few buildings rival Stark Tower in height; but those that do are streamlined and purposeful, the large screens slapped onto their exterior advertising products far too late into the night. There are no stars–obviously–but the randomly-lit apartments scattered across the skyline are compensation enough. It isn't something you can see from up here, but the streets below are frequented by only a handful of people. It's one of those rare times in the day when New York doesn't look like the overgrown metropolis it is.

It's gorgeous. Unattainable; anywhere else in the world.

Tony is sick of the sight of it.

_What's the time?_ It doesn't matter, because he's almost certain Pepper is sleeping and that's what he cares about. He calls out to F.R.I.D.A.Y., his voice leaden and gravelly after hours of disuse.

"Hey, Fri?"

"Evening, sir. Or I should say early morning." She doesn't have emotions but Tony _swears_ her tone is reproachful and he cringes, not expecting her to be so loud.

"Can we take the volume _and_ the sass down a couple notches?" He sits up and rubs at his eyes. "What's the time?"

F.R.I.D.A.Y. answers him again, and to his relief is much quieter. "It is 2:49AM, sir. I suggest you try to sleep."

Tony frowns and gestures at the walls of the room he's in. He's sitting in a bed, under a blanket, and he's been staring with glazed eyes at the New York skyline for _four goddamn hours_. Or has it been? Tony can't remember what time Pepper bid him goodnight.

"If this isn't sleep to you," he says, glaring at the speakers, "then I don't know _what_ is."

"If I may, sir, I am unable to see your movement. Also, sleep would entail you not speaking to me."

Tony is only mildly impressed. He uses that limited sight of hers to flip her off, and falls back into his pillows, sighing.

What the hell was he thinking, promising Pepper he'd sleep on time? This isn't like the last few years, where he could egg F.R.I.D.A.Y. into telling Pepper he's doing his job then fall back into the patterns he knows so well. Inviting Pepper into his home means inviting her into his entire life, and it's only now, lying down in a largely deserted bedroom at the devil's hour that he realizes it won't always be for the best.

Three in the morning is _his._ Not even the Avengers tried to take that away. He delegated tinkering to this hour for a reason he can't quite remember–it all started so long ago–but what he _does_ remember is his body adapting to less sleep and his circadian rhythm quite literally disintegrating, until he couldn't imagine _not_ being in the lab at this time. It's second nature. _Tony's_ nature. He doesn't see why Pepper should have anything to do with it. But he gave her (_and F.R.I.D.A.Y.,_ he fumes) his word, and it's high time his word means something. Even if that something bores him out of his mind.

Tony looks at the New York skyline again. He loves the ridiculous size of his windows–in fact, it's the first thing he had done when he remodeled the penthouse, after his father's death–but the outside seems to mock him. The screens shift between the same three or four advertisements, until Tony has memorized them all, and even the scattering of bright apartments is slowly thinning out as their occupants go to sleep. He takes that as a betrayal. Those people were his ammunition for his talk with Pepper in the morning.

Sighing, he looks down at his hands. He keeps flexing his fingers. They're itching to work.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y., on a scale of one to ten, how much trouble would I be in if I headed to the lab right now?"

"I believe Miss Potts is passionate about her desire for you to rest, sir. I'd give it an eight."

"That's not so bad." He fiddles with his fingers, waiting for F.R.I.D.A.Y. to reply. Instead she's silent, and it shouldn't bother him but it does because a snarky bot is giving him the silent treatment. He sits up again and rips the blanket off. He can head to the lab right now. F.R.I.D.A.Y. will be none the wiser, not if he keeps things silent. He's been in this room for _four_ hours, for God's sake. Maybe more. If he wasn't sleeping then he isn't sleeping now. He'll answer to Pepper in the morning.

He can disguise his footsteps, but he doesn't bother. He'll be asking F.R.I.D.A.Y. questions sooner or later.

"Sir, by your orders, I am required to tell Miss Potts in the morning that you haven't slept."

"Any chance I could override that?"

"Your earlier orders prevent you from doing so."

_Of course they do. _He stumbles into the elevator and punches the lab floor, mind already more alert. Maybe it isn't about manufacturing neurons, or building a replacement. Maybe he can forgo building altogether and work on the severed ends of Rhodey's spinal cord. Use stem cells and weld them together. Then show off in front of shareholders and get Pepper to kiss him and revolutionise medical practices forever and have everyone forget about the Accords.

He's a realist. But he does like to think of impossible things.

The elevator deposits him in the already lit lab. The jumpy nature he acquired upstairs already begins to fade, and Tony stretches, listening to his joints pop.

"Alright, Fri." He cracks his knuckles into place and rubs his hands, grinning. "Once more, from the top. Pull up everything the internet has on severed nerves, and filter out the baby stuff."

* * *

He's just had his third coffee when Pepper turns into the kitchen. Tony flashes her a brief smile–_she looks chipper_, he muses–and he's impressed to find that she doesn't even look that angry. She doesn't look anything, really. Just tired.

Really, really tired.

"It has been," she states, unnecessarily checking her phone, "one night since our agreement. _One_ night."

"If it's any consolation," Tony says, handing her the fourth coffee (which was for him, but he needs Pepper on his good side), "I tried to fall asleep for four hours before I came here."

"Astounding."

"I know, right?" He makes his way into the living room, and falls into the closest two-person couch. "You know some guy paid the building next door to advertise a shaving kit for down _there?_ Best thing I watched all night. I got waffles, by the way."

Pepper follows him, raising an eyebrow. She knows Tony can't cook to save his life. He can spend, though, and what she doesn't know is that some disgruntled delivery guy was dragged into Stark Tower's lobby this morning to give him the most expensive Belgian waffles Tony could find. He knows Pepper enjoys them, and that they can–if he's very lucky–distract her from his late-night research. He offers her the first bite and watches her expression morph into one of pure ecstasy, and turns on the TV.

"Am no'–" Pepper begins moments later, talking through a mouthful. Tony turns to stare at her, amused. She glares at him and continues once she's swallowed. "I have _not_ forgotten about this morning, by the way."

_Well. Too bad. At least we've got waffles._

_"But_ it's only day one and I'm hoping you'll ease yourself into it."

"Huh. F.R.I.D.A.Y. promised it would be worse than this."

"She wasn't wrong," Pepper replies, taking a seat next to him. "But you made me coffee and bought waffles, so..."

She leaves whatever the rest of that sentence is to his best guesses, and Tony gasps.

"You're assuming I can't make my own waffles? What, is love dead these days?"

"Tony, the delivery box is on the coffee table."

"You don't know that." Tony kisses her on the cheek before she can point it out. She laughs, and he leans back into the couch, grinning, satisfied that she'll leave his health problems for another day.

* * *

It's early afternoon when Pepper heads out, hair pulled back and dressed in a suit. A business emergency has hit Stark Industries–some rich guy is selling enormous shares he's bought from them for half their original price–and they want Pepper available to help negotiate. Pepper quickly kisses him and and hurries away, and it's as Tony waves at the closing elevator that he realizes it.

He hasn't enjoyed New York in more than two weeks.

It isn't that long of a time–years ago he holed out in the Tower, in the mansion; for much longer–but back then he had either other people or booze to keep him company. And F.R.I.D.A.Y., true to her word, has brought in people to remove almost all the alcohol he has left and Tony really doesn't want to deplete the remaining stock.

He sort of misses the days he wasn't trending on Twitter.

His glaring absence from the media only serves to strengthen his online presence. He knows how it works: Tony Stark is suddenly gone. The rest of the Avengers are in custody or on the run. No one is there to provide the answers so people want those answers more than ever. His retreat is more selfish than anything, if he's honest. The mass of reporters from last week has largely left, but he knows they're hidden in the surrounding neighbourhoods. Roaming. Watching. Hoping Tony comes down so they can be the first to ask about Siberia.

Joke's on them. He's completely tuned Siberia out. Hasn't even thought about it in days.

But that doesn't change the fact that he can only do so much in the lab and his penthouse. F.R.I.D.A.Y. is simulating dipping neurons in protein shakes (Or, as she calls it, much to Tony's chagrin, 'binding nerves using nucleic acids') and is unavailable for conversation. He's not in the mood to stare at a television screen or fix his damaged suit. And a drive through the city, at such a critical time like this, would be mental suicide.

He's not sure where to go, so he lets his subconscious take the wheel and turns on his phone, not thinking of anything specific. Social media is a travesty to navigate right now. News outlets don't know that more than one picture of him exists. Rhodey is being discharged–today, tomorrow; Tony can't remember–and he doesn't want to make life harder for him.

Five minutes later he's opened Happy's hacked chat from yesterday. He isn't sure how.

It doesn't look as daunting, because he's no longer haunted by the little icon proclaiming he has three-hundred unread messages. He scrolls past the first 270, give or take a couple–they're all cheap knock-offs of one another–and finds the untouched voice notes that only began in the last week.

Tony hasn't given Peter much thought, not before Happy's indignant call. There's the aching guilt from that night with the hug, quickly forgotten during the fight with Cap. It's snaked back into his life, but it's dulled. Especially after Pepper's little speech.

He likes Peter. He can't even fault him–the whole kid is one massive cherry on top that sometimes talks too much. The suit's there to keep him safe and Tony has stayed far away to give him space to work.

But yesterday he found out Peter idolises him.

He hears a momentary _ding_ and looks up to find that the elevator has taken him to the lab. Tony frowns–he doesn't remember saying anything–but strides in nonetheless, eyes glued to the screen once more. His finger hovers over the first voice note, but he hesitates.

Voice messages aren't really like texts. You can edit a written message a thousand times over before you send it. Where spoken words are involved, it's more personal. And these were sent to _Happy._ Not him.

But Peter doesn't have Tony's number (and _thank God_ because that is a _scary_ number of texts), and Happy is, at the end of the day, a gateway into Stark Industries. Anything weird that enters goes through him. Texts from a teenage vigilante are filed under that, right?

Before he can overthink it, Tony plays the first message.

_"Hey Happy!"_ There's a weird static that sounds like rushing air, and Peter's shouting into the phone. _"I know you're probably busy and stuff, but I had this idea for like, updates? Kinda like a daily report? Just so you and Mr. Stark know what's going on with the suit."_

Tony scoffs. If Peter was doing anything wrong, he'd know.

_"So it's kind of crazy today, rain and all–"_

Huh. Tony doesn't remember any rain in the last week.

_"–but that's mostly Queens, Manhattan was alright. I helped a bunch of homeless people find shelters. And this lady's phone was waterlogged and she couldn't call her husband so I let her borrow mine, and she gave me five bucks for the lost credit, even though I told her it was_ way_ too much–"_

Tony snorts. Sometimes he forgets that five dollar bills _exist._

_"–but that was cool. I'm on the roof of my building, right now. I'd climb into my apartment but the wall's really slippery and I'm not sure I should touch it with the wet suit."_

Tony raises his brows at that comment. Then it hits him–the suit's basically glorified spandex; it _repels_ water and doesn't soak it. Ideal for avoiding toxic materials, maybe, but not for climbing damp environments. He should add some selective permeability feature later on.

_"Um, don't tell Mr. Stark I said that. It's a perfect suit, really. See ya tomorrow!"_

There's a few written texts where Peter reiterates that the suit is perfect and amazing and _Mr. Stark outdid himself_, and Tony ignores those and listens to the next voice note.

_"Hi again, Happy. You didn't really say anything about the 'reports' thing, so I'll just keep doing them, I guess? It was pretty quiet today. I helped a bunch of old people cross the street to church, and this one guy got mugged so I webbed the mugger onto a wall, which was awesome! There isn't much else. Sundays are usually quieter, I guess. Till tomorrow!_

When Peter starts to ask about their next mission, Tony finds an empty chair and sits down. He finds himself smiling, soft and hidden, and keeps listening. Something about Peter's hushed celebration, his elated tone–it's just soothing. On a couple messages Peter has done something big, like stop a bank robbery or rescue a derailed train, and in those he doesn't even bother with keeping his voice down.

The corners of Tony's eyes start to crinkle as he listens.

Peter, voice blaring from the phone speakers, whoops and retells the story and thanks Happy and Tony a thousand times over, praising the suit and all its functions (_I can zoom in on bad guys and walk really quiet and it absorbs the shock from impact thank you so much!_). He tells Happy that swinging through New York is easily the best thing about being Spiderman. Tony closes his eyes. He sees every beach along the LA coastline, shining in the moonlight. Hears himself screaming and laughing as the Mark II swoops and dives; smiles in a way he never would because he's _flying_ in a supersuit and no one knows it's him. It's one of the best things Iron Man does.

That firework of a feeling, that's not something Tony is afraid to share. He's surprised, _glad,_ that he and this teenager have something so incredible in common.

Maybe it wouldn't be too bad, to have Peter borrow a couple things from him. Tony can't be that bad of an influence, right? Not to a teenager. They've usually chosen their personality by fourteen or fifteen.

Once he's through with the messages, he puts the phone down.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y., you done running simulations?"

"Test run seventy-percent complete."

"Guess I'm going manual." Tony finds his way toward the lab computer. It's state-of-the-art but he can't even remember buying it, much less turning it on. "Frankly, I'm disappointed in you. J.A.R.V.I.S. would _never_ have let me use a keyboard."

She's silent, because the remark isn't urgent, but Tony knows she'll check the memory later. Probably turn off the coffee machine or something; make him squirm.

"Alright, Parker," he tells the empty room. He has to wait for the operating system to turn on. Apparently he really _hasn't_ ever used this computer. Once he's made his way past the tutorials, he logs into the database F.R.I.D.A.Y. uses and runs a search for Peter Parker. "Time to find the kid behind Underoos."

Really, he's surprised he hasn't done this before. But Ross didn't give him much room to operate, and all Tony cared about then was how he was going to bring Cap and his team in. The moment F.R.I.D.A.Y. put a face to Spiderman, he decided a one-on-one talk would have to be enough. And Peter's been a good kid so far, so Tony isn't too worried.

The first thing that comes up is a list of medical bills and an Instagram profile. As quickly as they appear, Tony dismisses them.

_Deeper._

He's not sure how ethical this is. Tony's personal life narrates half the newsreels in this country, so hasn't ever had the privilege of his personal affairs being just that–personal. But he's not looking at credit card numbers or birth certificates.

He just wants to know what kind of student Peter is.

Once he's refined the search a few times, he finds records from Midtown Tech. _Bingo._ It's already promising–Midtown is one of the leading schools in STEM education. From what Tony's heard, almost every kid there was 'gifted' in their childhood. In fact, he's sure Stark Industries gave them a lab upgrade once or twice. Soon he finds Peter's report card, and whistles appreciatively when he opens it.

_Kid could give me a run for my money._

A slew of A-stars greet him, with comments about how Pete's the best sax player in the band (Tony will _not_ rest until he asks Peter about that), the star of the decathlon team, and acing his honors classes, the last of which Tony's heard about from Peter himself. Apparently the kid's also an absolute pleasure to teach. Tony scoffs, reading the last bit. Peter may be kind, but both of them know the kid's brain fires like lightning. Tony's willing to bet that half his Spiderman stuff came from under the desks during Chem Lab.

Tony rifles through Peter's life for at least another hour, knowing full-well his interest is bordering on obsession. He learns Peter's acing everything, but really steals the show in Chemistry and Physics. His decathlon team is headed straight to championships at the rate they're winning. And an accidental 'recent purchases' menu from his aunt's card tells Tony that the two live off of Chinese and Thai. It's... strange. Tony can't quite place it. Peter is Spiderman, and yet he's so _normal._

It's a pleasant surprise, though; a genius who hasn't gone off the rails. Peter's brave, kind, and dedicated to keeping appearances. Tony could afford to learn from him.

He remembers Pepper's suggestion, _we can have him come work with the other scientists._

Maybe not with other scientists. They can leak information and make dangerous connections. Besides, Peter is ahead of the majority of them. And the spidersuit, according to his intern, is far too water-repellent, a little airtight, and doesn't filter out input as much as it should. The kid would never actually dare say that, but Tony can read between the lines, and he likes taking notes. And he isn't too comfortable with the knowledge that this suit was built in under twenty-four hours. It can definitely be more streamlined, for one thing.

Tony checks the time. It's two in the afternoon. If he's not wrong, school lets out at three.

It's a dangerous, stupid idea. He is _Tony Stark._ He is not designed to be kid-friendly.

But it's tantalising. Peter wants it, and Tony wants to know more about Spiderman; wants to update the suit.

And maybe–_maybe_–he wants to know more about Peter Parker.

Happy's phone dials once, twice, before he picks up.

"Happy!" Tony tries to sound like someone who didn't recently hack into his friend's phone.

"Tony, if you think I'm doing you any favours after yesterday–"

Tony barely tries to listen. "You're the head of security, alright? Do something about it."

Happy groans.

"Listen, you ready to play chauffeur again?'

* * *

Happy arrives at the tower at half past three.

Tony's waiting in the lobby, hoodie and shades and a smirk; and watches the disgruntled man shuffle into the building, with a much smaller person in tow. Tony tries to hug Happy and gets blown off (_"I'm getting paid overtime for this, you know."_), and very soon it's just Tony, whoever works in the lobby, and a starstruck Peter.

If anything about the kid has changed in the last month, he can't see it. Then again Tony knew Peter for exactly five seconds before he invited him to the airport battle of the century. Peter's in a green sweater and jeans, walking like the floor is made of glass. He stares with wide eyes and a small smile at the lobby and upper floors. Tony finds it kind of sweet.

"We meet again, kid."

He puts on a winning smile and takes a few steps toward Peter, waiting for the kid's answer so he can take him upstairs.

Tony stands there for maybe twenty seconds when he realizes Peter hasn't breathed a word.

"Kid?" Nothing. "Underoos?"

Peter's eyes are glowing. Light is actually emanating from them. At least Tony thinks so. He's staring at the Stark Tower lobby like it knows the meaning of life. Wide eyes, jittery hands. His jaw is slack, just a little.

Peter's either scared for his life, or over the moon.

Tony doesn't enjoy it, but he reaches his hand out and claps the kid on the shoulder. Peter lets out a yelp and _finally_ looks at him.

"Kid! Nice to see you're back on Earth."

"Mr. Stark! Oh my God, I, uh, good afternoon. I'm so sorry I didn't answer you, I just didn't notice you–"

Tony raises his brows. Except for the two of them and some admin clerks, the lobby is deserted.

"You saying my outfit is below standards, kid?"

"What?" Peter looks mortified. "No, no, of course not; it's just, I, um..." He gives Tony a pointed glance, thought pointed at what Tony doesn't know.

He's about to steer them both to the elevators, when that familiar flush colours Peter's cheeks. Oh, no. Tony _refuses_ to live the drop-off night again. No blushing, no awkward moments. At least none that can be faulted to him.

"I'm just messing with you, kid." The pink dies down a little, and Tony calms down. "I'm gonna say I hope the ride was okay, though between you and me I'm hoping it _wasn't_ because I really want an excuse to breathe down Happy's neck–"

"Is that the arc reactor?"

"Huh?"

Tony turns the question over in his mind, and follows Peter's gaze, and–_oh_.

The arc reactor. It's wide, neon blue, and it takes center stage. It's the Stark Industries' showpiece: a pulsing, powerful beam, encased in glass, that cuts through every floor in the tower; cam supposedly keep it powered for the next millenium. It was designed to be the first thing people saw when they came in. Of course a science nerd like Peter would lose his cool over it.

The kid seems to realize what he's done, though, and immediately trips over himself apologizing, before Tony asks him to stop.

"No need to apologize, kid. That _is_ the arc reactor. Best thing I ever redesigned." Tony thinks for a minute. "Well. After the Iron Man suits. You got here okay?"

It's a stupid, small talk question. The kind Tony despises. Of course the kid got here okay; he's standing here, isn't he? But it's the kind of thing you ask a guest and Tony really doesn't wanna scare a teenager away.

Peter nods. "Yeah, the car was awesome! Could you please thank Happy for me? I wanted to do it myself, but I'm pretty sure he left the moment I got out."

"Already done," Tony says, making his way to the elevator. Peter doesn't move–still staring at the tower–and Tony chuckles. "You know, I don't enjoy being modest, but upstairs is the real deal."

The kid freezes. "We're going _upstairs?"_

"Yup. Private labs. You got the suit?"

"Oh, um, yeah!" Peter points to his school bag and nearly unzips it–to show Tony, probably–but quickly stops himself. "It's, uh, in here."

"You talked things out with your aunt?"

"Yeah, I told her I could be here for a while."

"Great! Now _please_ allow me to take you to the elevators."

* * *

"So how's school?"

_God, two minutes in and I sound like one of Dad's business partners._

"Good, it's good. We had a test cancelled because someone started a fire in the chem lab."

"Fun place."

The elevator travels fast. Tony has literally built it to travel fast. This tower has at least thirty floors and there's no time to waste navigating them all. One time, when he and Pepper were late to a meeting, Pepper ordered F.R.I.D.A.Y. to tighten the cables and they traveled seventeen floors in five seconds.

But this silence is _excruciating._

On paper his idea sounded fine. Bring in the kid, work on the suit, learn about Spiderman. Maybe apologize for the mess in Berlin.

But now Peter's here. Standing in one corner, bag held to his chest, eyes taking in everything except Tony. It's actually impressive, just a little; considering the elevator is completely white and not at all interesting.

Two seconds in, Tony can't stand it.

"You know what, kid, I hate small talk. Ask me why I invited you."

Peter looks stricken. "Okay, um, that's cool. I don't like small talk either. Uh, why'd you invite me here, Mr. Stark?"

"Glad you asked!" Tony grins and clasps his hands. "Well, considering your alibi is that you're operating under the Stark Internship, I figured it can't hurt to do something along those lines. I want to refine that suit of yours. Streamline it, increase efficiency, all that."

He studies Peter's reaction. The kid first stares at him disbelievingly, then looks back at the suit. "You–you want to upgrade my suit?"

"I mean, if you're opposed to that–"

_"No!_ Oh, God, I'm really sorry to interrupt you, um," Peter breathes and continues. All the while giving Tony the same disbelieving stare. "Mr. Stark, a suit upgrade would be amazing. Seriously, thank you, not that there's anything wrong with the suit to begin with! It's perfect, but thank you still–"

The elevator doors slide apart and cut Peter off, and Tony, with a flourish, welcomes the kid into his private lab.

If Peter was starstruck before–well, Tony can't put a word to what he is now. Peter drinks in the sight and gasps as his bag escapes his grip. His hands keep moving–in and out of his pockets, into each other, balled at his sides–like the kid's on a sugar high, but Peter doesn't so much as twitch. He stays glued to the inside of the elevator, chest rising and falling, and Tony watches him, wondering if he should worry.

"Kid?" Peter stays unmoving. "Come on, I'll show you around."

Peter slowly leans down and picks his bag back up, steps into the lab; but otherwise doesn't breathe a word. For the second time Tony wonders if he should have brought him here.

"Pete? You good?"

"It's _real."_

Tony furrows his brows, searching for _it._ He's about to ask when Peter finally opens up.

"It's all–I'm sorry, Mr. Stark, I can't imagine how weirded out you are," he says, not looking away from the room. He barks out a laugh. "But it's just. Your lab. It's here and I'm in it. It's real."

For a second Tony considers a sarcastic response (_As opposed to virtual?_) but he can't bring himself to tear down the wonder in the kid's eyes.

_Flying above Los Angeles. Falling and rising and nearly touching the goddamn stars_.

Tony chuckles. At the memory or at Peter, he's not sure. Maybe both.

"It sure is, kid. Now come on. I've been thinking about adding selective permeability features to this thing." Peter finally turns to look at him, grinning, and Tony inexplicably feels like he's placating a hyperactive puppy. "I've been meaning to ask about the sensory input, too. I'm not sure how much is too much for you, so..."

"Of course. This is all so... _God,_ thank you, sir. This is awesome."

"You've no idea, kid."

* * *

Tony ends up being the one who has no idea.

Peter's a _genius._ Naive and easily impressed and a little loud at times–not the best lab skills; he'll have to teach the kid those–but a genius nonetheless.

Tony remembers the webshooters before he redesigned them. Or, for lack of a better word, refined them. For something that had never been used in human history, Peter built some pretty solid weapons. And a damn good web formula. He's seen them, the Midtown report; hell, he's met _Peter_ so he knows the kid thinks far beyond what's average.

It doesn't stop him from being blown away.

Once Peter's done staring down the entire lab and thanking Tony like his life depends on it (_"You know I haven't actually_ done_ anything yet, right kid?"_), they unfold the suit and get to work. And, well. Peter's got engineer fingers. In the beginning Tony slows himself down, talking about how they'll program the suit to scan and identify liquids and let them in or out based on toxicity, before Peter fires back with _Scanning can take too long, we can just track pH and tune out acids_, and Tony doesn't think he's ever enjoyed being faulted by a teenager. He switches into rapid, undiluted science and relishes the way the kid replies almost effortlessly. God, Tony hasn't had a decent science buddy in years. And he's never had one as modest as Peter, who counters university-level propositions like they're high school quiz questions. It's a great change of pace.

It isn't long before they send the suit into the design machine and then they decide to work on sensory input. Tony has F.R.I.D.A.Y. progressively decrease the light level, and waits for Peter to tell him to stop.

It's almost six, now, but the sun is high in the sky, and Tony decides to lay off the science for a while.

"So, how are you planning to get home?" he asks, eyes starting to squint as the darkness around them deepens. Peter, in contrast, visibly relaxes, like he's been waiting for this all day. Tony finds that kind of depressing.

"I'll probably swing home, you know, for patrol and all." Peter shrugs, leaning back in his chair. "The light's good now. I won't bother you any longer once the suit's out."

"Light level at thirty percent," F.R.I.D.A.Y. informs them. She's long since finished her simulations, but Tony hasn't looked at them yet. Meanwhile, he gives Peter a strange look.

"First of all, you're not bothering me. I literally asked you to come here." Peter chuckles at that. "Second, _really?_ You've been up and about since six in the morning and the first thing you're gonna do is patrol?"

Peter frowns, his face screaming _isn't it obvious?_ "I mean, yeah. Crime doesn't sleep, right? So neither should Spiderman."

Tony codes for the new light input on his computer while he talks to Peter. "That's a noble pursuit and all, kid. But it's Friday. School's out. Relax. Have yourself a nice weekend."

"Patrolling _is_ relaxing. It isn't always me chasing bad guys, you know. And it keeps me busy when May's at work."

"The same May who knows you've been working here all day? She'll really let you stay out for longer?"

The kid shrugs, craning his neck to read the code Tony's writing. "She doesn't have to know we're done, right?"

"Woah, woah, _woah."_ Tony stops typing to turn toward Peter. "Underoos _l__ies?"_

"A lot, actually."

"Heartbreaking. Not to me, I hope."

Peter gives him a lopsided grin. "You haven't exactly given me a lot of wiggle room, sir."

Tony pretends to be wounded, and Peter giggles. "So what does your aunt do if she finds out?"

"Well, you guys are pretty different."

"I'm aware. She wasn't thrilled to hear you were working with me."

"My aunt," Peter says, with an awkward smile, "she, uh. She doesn't really like you."

He says it like it should piss Tony off, but the man is hardly fazed. Tony shrugs. "Tell her to join the club. We have a five-hundred-person waiting list. So, different how?"

"Well." Peter's smile drops for a second, then returns in full force. "She's a lot less dramatic than you, that's for sure."

"Wow. Right, then." The updated suit is conveniently complete, and Tony takes the liberty of stuffing it into Peter's bag and handing it to the boy. "You can take _that_ to your not-dramatic aunt and I'll find a therapist to deal with what I've just heard."

"Relax, Mr. Stark." Peter's voice has a laugh in it. "I was only kidding."

"Nope. No mercy. Now scoot."

He waits for Peter's retort. When it doesn't come, he looks at the kid more closely.

Peter hasn't moved–he's still holding his bag–but he looks at Tony like he's almost... scared. _Shit._ Was that too harsh? Is it that stupid car hug all over again?

Tony keeps all worry out of his face. "Relax, kid. I'm just messing with you."

Peter relaxes, and smiles. Tony thinks for a second before he says the next part.

"It's been great having you over, really. You're great at this whole lab thing. I just don't want your aunt to worry. She's in the hater's club, remember?"

It's only when the kid chuckles that Tony relaxes too, and Peter shoulders his bag and heads for the elevators again.

"Thank you, Mr. Stark. Today was really cool."

"Don't mention it, kid. Wait. How are you getting home?"

"Oh, I'll probably change in some alleyway and swing back–"

"And I'm going to stop you right there." Tony pulls out his phone and texts Happy before the kid can stop him, and looks Peter in the eye. "Seriously. Take a break today. If you're worried about the whole 'saving New York' thing, you've upgraded your hero tool. It's basically another form of patrolling."

"Mr. Stark, _really–"_

"Look, I can't stop you from patrolling. But at least drive home. Take your break in the car or whatever."

Peter eventually concedes. He heads for the elevator, thanking Tony yet again. The doors are about to close when Tony thinks fast.

"Keep texting Happy, by the way! The man loves hearing from you!"

It's only a long while later, when Peter has left and Pepper finally returned, that it dawns on Tony.

He _l__iked_ this.

* * *

_("F.R.I.D.A.Y., what's Pete doing?"_

_"Mr. Parker seems to be at home, watching a movie.")_

* * *

**Remember to favorite, follow, and review. Especially to review! I'll see you guys next Friday!**


	6. Chapter 6

**IM LATE AND IT SUCKS AND IM SORRY I SWEAR.**

**Um. I should have probably mentioned this last Friday. I'm currently attending an international camp that's taking up all of my time, and I barely managed to complete this last night. I'm happy I did, because this chapter contains the very first scene I envisioned when writing this story, and it's pretty much one of the most important ones. So yay!**

**I won't be able to update this Friday, but I can definitely continue my weekly schedule from the Friday after! I'm sorry for the delay, again.**

**Finally. SEVENTY. TWO. FOLLOWERS.**

**WHAT.**

**Thank you guys again and again and again, holy SHIT seventy of you follow this story. I honestly have trouble believing it but THANK YOU. Can we get to a hundred? I think i'd literally die.**

**Sorry for the delay, again! Enjoy!**

**TRIGGER WARNING: this chapter contains descriptions of nightmares and anxiety/panic attacks. the scenes are _Tony hates...goes black, it doesn't take...pitch black, _and _his heart starts _until the chapter ends. Skip them if you want to. Stay safe!**

* * *

_Truth is that it was always going to end_

_The symphony buzzing in my head_

_Took a market of filth and sold like summer_

\- The Good, The Bad And The Dirty, Panic! At The Disco

Tony can't remember the last time he's been this happy. Pepper is living with him and kisses him and _loves_ him, the Accords haven't crossed his mind in a month, Rhodey's traded the medical wing for an actual bedroom, and a few days ago, with Peter, he's created something that actually works. And yes, there are times where Tony's life has been much more fulfilling. But now, in this random cluster of days where Steve Rogers is the last thing on his mind, he's just glad it's all less painful.

Which is why when F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s distanced voice announces that Thaddeus Ross is calling, Tony doesn't question it in the slightest.

It's all been too good to be true.

"Put him through, F.R.I.D.A.Y." he says, momentarily ignoring one of the models the A.I. built for him. After Peter's newest report proclaimed the suit better than ever, a new confidence has wormed its way into him. He hears a beep. "General! Been some time. How's your day been?"

"Not good."

Tony's trying for a lighter mood. Ross' words, though, cut right through it. Tony can practically see the man; parked in his enormous office and staring at the phone like it tried to attack him.

Tony isn't looking forward to a guessing game, so he keeps the semi-interested voice.

"That's disappointing. What is it? Recent surgery? Wife left you?"

"This concerns your fugitive buddies, Stark." He pauses. 'Especially Captain America."

Tony is grateful the man can't see him. He freezes, watches the speaker like it's spewing venom. His injuries have long-since healed, but something in his chest twinges.

"What do you want?" Tony's voice comes out icier than he expected.

"Your help."

"Help?"

"Yes, Stark, your _help,_ as foreign as that idea might seem." Ross talks like he's schooling a child, and Tony can almost see him smirking. "I'm sure you know that Natasha Romanoff and Steve Rogers have disappeared. Two very dangerous Avengers."

"Yeah, I'm aware your team can't do it's job right."

"Says the man who failed to bring them to justice in the first place."

_It's not justice,_ Tony wants to scream, _you gave me a day and a half to arrest my own team and then you were planning to trap them forever them and you know it. The whole goddamn thing was rigged._

Instead he reminds himself that Pepper's with him again and Rhodey has left his hospital bed and that that's more important than tearing Ross down.

"If I'm so bad at what I do then why do you need my help?"

"Because unfortunately, your capabilities exceed our own. Did Rogers give you any hints when he left, about where he was headed?"

_He nearly killed me then walked off with his best buddy and never even tried to apologize for what he did. Left his shield and nothing else._

The longer this conversation continues, the longer Rogers and Romanoff and the rest of them stay in his head. Tony tries to hurry it along.

"If he did he'd be with you right now." Tony knows that's a lie but he couldn't care less. "Now, what is it you want? Guns, trackers, traps?"

"I want you to find him yourself."

There's a beat, where only phone static can be heard.

"No."

For a moment even Tony's shocked. _No?_ The chance to get back at Rogers for all he's done and Tony says _no?_ It would take maybe a day to find him. A couple more if he's being helped by Romanoff.

But something about doing it, about bringing those two to someone like Ross, feels inhumane. Even if it's Rogers. And Tony trusts his instincts, even when they don't make sense. Ross, meanwhile, stays quiet, then talks like Tony shot at him.

_"No?"_

"No, not happening. _Never_ happening. You want Rogers, you get yourself a man that actually wants to find him and make that guy do it. 'Cause I won't."

"Stark." Ross' voice is low, hard. "You don't get to say no. Not after that shitshow at the airport."

"The shitshow _I_ caused, General, let's not forget. And I'm not planning on starting another."

"You'll help us track down Rogers, then Romanoff, or you pay the price."

"You're using threats now. That's cute."

"You've been to the Raft, Stark. How would you like to stay there?"

Oh, he's playing _that_ game. He's still assuming Tony cares about threats to himself.

Well. Tony knows _exactly_ how to win.

"How would _you_ like to be blasted on live TV, General? To have everyone see exactly what you've done to their heroes? It's not like the news wouldn't want to hear it. Especially from me." He hears the beginning of Ross' answer and pushes ahead. "And–_and,_ I'm just guessing here–but don't people usually have something against the government?"

"Are you... are you trying to threaten me, Stark?"

"Not really. I'm just telling you how it's going to play out."

"Listen to me now–"

"No, _you_ listen. You tried this crap with me once and it didn't work. And it won't work again and I won't waste resources or time forcing it to." He takes a steadying breath, trying to make his next words sound final. "You want a man to catch Rogers, you find him yourself. And if you try to force me into this, I'll stir up the biggest mass protest you've ever seen. Are we clear?"

_"Stark–"_

"F.R.I.D.A.Y., end call."

Ross' near-shout abruptly cuts off, and Tony collapses into the nearest chair.

He's been good, for so long. For over a _month._ And he knows his luck never holds out for that long, that his life is rarely this easy, but God, he _hoped.

Ross hasn't crossed his mind since Siberia. He just seemed so... unimportant, after everything; just some short, aging man with anger problems that Tony could easily take out. But now the title Secretary of State looms over him, and so does the threat, empty as it was.

And now he wants him to track down goddamn Steve Rogers.

And Romanoff too, but she's not as awful. Less cruel.

_(She never kept his own secrets from him)_

Tony can't understand what made him say no. It would be so fitting, so _easy,_ to track them both down and dump them on Ross' front door; watch the betrayal flare in their eyes and feel the sick satisfaction of revenge.

He hasn't allowed himself to think of them–or anyone else, for that matter–since that first night with Pepper. They've tried to find their way into his head countless times, and Tony evaded them all. He busied himself with wires, or Pepper, or sometimes a phone call to Rhodey. But now Ross has planted them firmly in his mind and Tony knows they won't leave.

_Don't think don't think don't think don't think–_

They have to be far from him, now, if they've had a month. Out of the continent, definitely. Romanoff's probably taken them to Europe, maybe North Africa. Definitely not near Wakanda, not if their prince still thinks Barnes killed their king.

_Not again not again–_

The same Barnes that killed his mother.

Frankly Tony can't care less about whether or not someone was controlling him. He doesn't care if Barnes regrets it and wants to undo it.

He cares that Rogers _knew,_ that Barnes _remembers,_ and neither of them said it to his face. Neither guy once thought of saying _Hey, Stark, there's something dangerous you should know_. They let him keep the ratty newspaper from the early nineties. God, how many times has Tony drunk himself insane over his mother's death? Searched for the first woman who didn't remind him of her to take her home? Flinched every time he heard _Maria,_ hated the name _Stark_ and all it stood for, thrust his responsibilities in the hands of others because he was sure his self-doubt would blow up in his face.

The last five years–the ones with Rogers and the Avengers–they weren't as awful as the first few. But if Tony knew, knew that they weren't destined to die and Rogers could share his secrets with the team like anyone else, they might have been better. He might have lost less time to useless things.

Why the _hell_ did Tony say no?

It can't be because he's forgiven Rogers. He hasn't; not now and likely not ever. And it's not because finding them would be hard. A few days isn't what he considers a long time.

Tony tries to imagine what can happen if he changes his mind. He knows he'll get the chance, because Ross is nothing if not relentless. If he gives in and finds them both–it wouldn't take more than a week–he'll have to bring them in. There's no telling if Ross will provide backup. Tony might have to fight them himself. Then if he wins, he forces them back into the United States, where they won't get a trial and will go straight to the Raft.

_The Raft_.

He hasn't thought of that in a while either.

_Wanda in a shock collar. Barton torn away from his family. Lang, who hasn't even been a hero for two days._

That's what it is. The Raft is a torture chamber and Tony will never see it as anything else. It's the only part of the Accords he can't tolerate. And a month ago, when those new rules were just ideas, he imagined his team would sign them, so they could _s__tay_ Avengers, and together they would work to expose the horror of those papers to the rest of the world, and change it. He imagined things like the Raft, the regulations, the tracking devices slowly disappearing, until every loophole was twisted and the Accords became nothing more than a footnote in the law.

There's no doing that now.

But at least he's not confused anymore. No human–Rogers or Barnes or otherwise–deserves to be sent there. Tony refuses to be the one who pushes them somewhere like that. And if it means he fights Ross every day for the next year, so be it. Just meeting the inmates haunted him. He can't imagine what being the jailor would do to him.

He can't just sit here any longer, though. Not when the thought's been forced into his head. The Accords, as they currently stand, are bullshit. He'll figure out how to face the tabloids with Pepper, and he'll take Ross to court, and he'll show Rogers and his righteous facade what a real Avenger should do.

The rest of the day flies by in a haze. Pepper returns from work downstairs–she's working again now, and neither of them could be happier–and he tells her what she thinks, and she doesn't waste time egging him on and figuring out the words he should use. He tests a few of the models F.R.I.D.A.Y. has come up with for Rhodey's spine–none work, but at least he now knows what not to do–and the night comes quickly. There's this sense of purpose in him, and for the first time in a while he's ready to face the cameras.

He goes to sleep with the Accords on his mind.

* * *

Tony wakes up.

Something feels off. He's in his room but it's crooked and shaken and _wrong._ He can't tell why. He clutches his left arm. Shivers. Looks toward the New York skyline, which twinkles softly under a soft sheen of snow.

Wait–_snow?_ In September?

Then it hits him: it's snowed in his room.

The floor is completely masked by snow. His carpet, bottom drawers, and the underside of his chairs are buried under several feet of it. Icicles snake up his mattress and blanket. They're just shy of his ankles. Tony sees them–harsh, white, menacing–and he knows they're just snow but he rips his feet away, panting.

There's snow in his room. Something is wrong.

He looks to the glittering skyline, but it's gone. The window's gone black. His left arms twinges again.

Tony can't tell how, but he knows something is coming. He tightens his grip on his arm and stares outside. It's him and this snowed in room and a window pointing to the goddamn void, and it should not make sense but it _does_ and he doesn't find himself questioning it.

There's snow in his room. That's alright. Something else is what's wrong.

Footsteps echo from the void. It's this deep black that swallows you, but the person walking toward Tony is heavyset and even with their stride, and their feet hit what sounds like the ringing of metal. The noise reeks of danger–hell, it festers in him, he keeps holding his stupid arm–but for whatever reason Tony can't see the bedroom door. He's locked in.

Against all logic, Tony leaves his bed. His feet sink into nearly three feet of snow (_Shit_ it's cold), but the ice doesn't deter him. Doesn't slow him down. Tony presses on, all the while the footsteps from the black turning louder.

He waits nearly thirty seconds before he can place a name to them.

Tony's got a vice-like grip on his arm now. Where the footsteps echo against steel he searches for a face. There's a purposeful stride. A flash of red and silver. A pair of hardened eyes.

The person steps into the light, and–

"_Rogers?_ What the hell?"

His question falls on uncaring ears and it's met with silence.

Steve Rogers is in his room. Him. Standing opposite Tony, in Tony's bedroom, staring at Tony like he killed the man's mother.

Steve Rogers is in his room.

_No,_ Tony thinks, _that's bullshit._ Rogers is on the run; he can't show his face without thirty governments fighting for his custody. And access to Tony's room is restricted a hundred times over. _No._ It's not right. It can't be.

It doesn't make Rogers move, though.

Tony stares at him. Rogers is standing tall, his suit on and his shield fixed to his back. He hasn't sunk into the snow, or if he has he doesn't show it. Tony stares and Rogers stares back, with a silence that resounds and shakes Tony to his core.

"Rogers," he repeats, "what the hell are you doing here?" His lungs ache from the cold and he tries to breathe that ice into his words.

Rogers watches him, unabashed.

"Hey. _Hey!_" The man keeps staring, only pausing to unhook his shield and tighten it against his arm. "Answer me, you hear? Shouldn't you be running off with your troop of outlaws?"

"You made them outlaws."

It comes out as a mumble. Tony labours to hear it.

"I-_what?"_

Rogers takes two large strides across the snow, until it's only two or three feet between him and Tony. Tony's sunk into the white and the man towers over him, glare more menacing than he remembers it.

"You did that when you signed."

_("I'm trying to keep you from tearing the Avengers apart."_

_"You did that when you signed.")_

Tony hates himself as he does it but he shrinks back, trying to get his feet out of the snow, trying to stand level with a man who looks far too much like the past but still isn't quite right. There's something off about Rogers–a coldness, a furious glint in his eyes Tony can't remember ever seeing. He's wanted to find something like it for _years,_ to find a reason to fault Howard's golden boy; but he isn't so eager to deal with it now. He eyes the shield with trepidation–wait, it's brand new. No scratches. Where the hell did Rogers find a new shield?

Tony's about to ask but the other man speaks first, words clipped and shot with hatred.

"You killed the Avengers."

"Oh, don't you _dare_ insinuate–"

"You killed Bucky."

The phrase silences Tony, who frowns and tries to decipher Rogers' words. "I didn't–"

Rogers barrels into him. He slams into Tony, and the man doubles over, groaning, and Rogers carries him by the front of his tank top and snarls into his ear.

"You _killed_ him."

And then behind Rogers Tony sees it. The Winter Soldier's limp body. His matted hair covers his face, his prosthetic's torn off and thrown against the wall, his chest's bleeding onto the snow.

And from where his heart should be, smoke. It's unmistakeable.

The kind of smoke that comes from a repulsor blast.

Tony sucks in a breath, tries to say something.

Rogers punches him so hard he sees stars.

The man lifts him out the snow and throws him away. Tony scrambles to his feet, and Rogers charges toward him, there's a repulsor on Tony's hand–_what the hell, there's a repulsor on Tony's hand_–he hardly cares, he just aims and fires; Rogers dodges it and keeps running so Tony tries to run too but suddenly he's in his beat-up Iron Man suit and it's too heavy to move and he feels the older man slam into him again, push the edge of his shield into Tony's suit; the tech fails and everything goes a horrific black, Rogers slams his shield into Tony again, and again, and again, and the metal starts to crack, and Rogers raises his shield high and looks Tony in the eyes–_he won't do it, he didn't do it last time, he didn't_–

Rogers slams the shield into Tony's head. Everything goes black.

* * *

With a shout, Tony wakes up. He scours the room.

No snow. No ice on his bed. No void. The window reveals New York with all its glitter.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y., turn on the lights."

He squeezes his eyes shut as they're overcome with brightness. When he forces them open–earlier than he should–he studies every corner of the room.

Empty. The door's open for whenever he's ready to use it. No people and definitely no Steve Rogers.

He falls back into bed, hands pressed to his face, and lets out a shuddering breath. His heartbeat sounds like thunder.

_A nightmare. It was just some stupid nightmare_.

No one tried to kill him. He hasn't killed anyone. Something messed with his head earlier and he just has to deal with it, that's all.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y., what's the time?"

"It is currently 4.05AM. The sun rises in approximately an hour."

So he slept, longer than expected. And he can't be in this room, not right now. It still smells like blood.

"Perfect. Prepare the lab for me."

"Sir, by your and Ms. Potts' orders, I am required to tell her–"

"I know what you're required to tell her!" he snaps, ripping the sheets off of him. _Get out get out get out_. Every two words tied to a heartbeat.

Then he realizes F.R.I.D.A.Y. is just a program doing her job, and sighs.

"Sorry, Fri. Look, how long have I been sleeping?"

"It isn't a problem. You fell asleep at half past nine, sir."

He does some quick math. "That rounds out to about seven hours, right?"

"Actually, it's six point five–"

"I said it rounds out. From now on we round my sleep durations, you got that?" He follows with a small silence so F.R.I.D.A.Y. can save the information. "And now, with the knowledge that I've slept seven hours which is what you guys wanted in the first place, I'd like to override that night prison protocol."

"The sleep schedule protocol, sir."

"Yeah, we're changing that too." He thinks for a few minutes. "The I S.L.E.P.T. protocol, for _I seriously lost extra productive time._ Now override."

F.R.I.D.A.Y. remains quiet for a few moments, before telling Tony his override's been accepted.

He doesn't wait for the words to sink in. He heads straight for the lab.

* * *

It is never about fixing his mistakes. It's about preventing more.

That's what he's been saying for years. To the Stark Industries shareholders, to S.H.I.E.L.D., to Pepper, and to the Avengers most of all. As important as Rhodey's legs are, he's no closer to figuring it out than he was a month ago.

_(You killed the Avengers)_

He's been idle and denying it. The Iron Man suit has sat neglected in another lab for more than a month. Captain America's shield isn't any closer to being mended. If he's going to keep Pepper and Rhodey and the rest of the world safe, he shouldn't be loading them with guns. That was a decade ago; the biggest mistake of his life.

_(Volatile, self-obsessed, doesn't play well with others.)_

He should be on the front lines, wielding the weapon himself.

It's a long time before Pepper wakes, and Tony uses those hours to bring his broken suit in and bring back its old splendor. Nearly everything in it ends up replaced or updated–he needs new repulsors and a reboot of his emergency fire measures, and an entire box of gold-titanium alloy. There's screws and wires inside he needs to tighten and fix manually. He also takes off nearly half the metal plates and sends them for maintenance. At some point his arms start to ache from the amount of work there is, and he relishes it. The pain takes center stage and he can forget his dreams.

By the time the sun comes up and the tower comes to life, he's ordered F.R.I.D.A.Y. to keep news about the suit under wraps, changed and showered, and greets Pepper with a grin so wide even _he_ thinks he's happy.

She doesn't even blink twice.

It actually turns into a decent day. Pepper makes them both eggs and bacon, and Tony throws in coffee and cereal, arguing that it's far too healthy. They catch the first half hour of some movie on TV before she leaves for work, and Tony heads to the lab, happy with the knowledge that his suit is being reconstructed.

Tony has fallen into a pattern the last few months, and as he walks in F.R.I.D.A.Y. automatically pulls up everything he saved relating to neurons.

"Not today, but thanks. Activate Notepad Mode, please."

He hasn't used Notepad Mode since he first built Peter's suit. It's maybe the one thing J.A.R.V.I.S. never had. When it's on F.R.I.D.A.Y. stores his ideas for him, extrapolates them, and bounces them back at him, and pretty soon he has an arsenal of thoughts to plan out what he wants.

_You killed the Avengers_.

No, he didn't. He can't have. He signed the Accords to keep them together, to prove that the Avengers and the rest of the world could coexist, and he begged the rest to do the same. He kept the fight to himself, at first. Only revealed the guns when Cap revealed his team.

_You killed Bucky_.

_God,_ he wanted to. He doesn't know if he still wants it now. Rogers kept the secret, but Tony started the fight. He doesn't know where the fault lies. All he really wants right now is justice.

His intentions are skewed but the fact lies that he hasn't hurt anyone. Screw what his brain tells him. If anything _Ross_ and those one-hundred-and-seventeen countries killed the hero teamup the world loved. And he's going to make sure the public knows it.

"First up, I want a meeting with the New York Times scheduled next week."

"With what headline, sir?"

"Make it something flashy." Tony thinks for a second. "The truth behind the Avengers. The reality of my disappearance. Something like that."

"Interview scheduled with the New York Times for next Monday."

"Great."

"They seem eager to meet you, sir."

Tony smirks. "As they should be. Now, we're going to discuss what to say and what not to say."

* * *

Night comes and he goes to bed feeling like he's done something. Every news outlet in the city is fixated on his impromptu return to the limelight–in fact, it becomes the main thing on the advertisement board next to the window. He gets texts from Pepper and Happy at some point–_Tony, what's going on?_ and _Boss what the hell_ respectively–but neither person is too mad once he explains himself. In fact, based on the change in Happy's voice and Pepper's small smile, he'd say they were proud.

Then Tony actually falls asleep and all that progress goes down the drain.

He wakes up and there's more snow.

It stretches on as far as he can see. His first thought is that his room's expanded, but there's no window or buried chair or nightstand.

The walls are a faded, metallic grey. Everything around him creaks with age.

It's not his room filled with snow. It's his bed dumped in it.

He's in Siberia.

_Shit shit_ shit. _It's a bad dream, it's just a dream._

Tony closes his eyes; squeezes them so tight his head hurts. And like a mantra tells himself that none of it is real.

He opens his eyes.

Nothing.

_Shit._

He tries it again and again and he's _still_ in this goddamn dream. Unless it's not a dream.

_Shitshitshitshit._

It doesn't take Rogers as long to show up this time, shield ready. His eyes are the colour of steel, face just as angry as last night.

Then he can't be dreaming, can he? Tony can't remember a moment in the last four years where Rogers had this much rage sewn into his expression.

It's Siberia, so he's not surprised that he's wearing the suit. He's not surprised that it's fixed, either–he made sure of that. He prepares himself; charges a repulsor and plants his feet in the thick snow because he refuses to be taken down again.

Then the unthinkable happens. More Avengers walk out.

Romanoff, Barton, Maximoff. Tony mentally checks boxes for each one. Barnes joins them–Tony's right, he _didn't_ kill him–and when they stay still and stare at him there are no words.

Rogers charges him. His shield edge is pointed right at him. Tony dodges, only to get hit by an electric arrow. He barely catches Barton's smirk. Rogers comes back in, forces the shield into his suit. Then Barnes is there punching at his helmet. He pulls him off but Romanoff is there. Her tasers are active and aimed at his chest. He pulls her off too, but Barton's arrows are back and _God,_ they're not letting up. Maximoff stays unmoving, with an eerie stare and red hands.

His suit isn't designed to take on four Avengers. They're supposed to fight _with_ him. Tony never had a backup plan for this. He parries and dodges and shoots and shouts and only ever has the upper hand for a few seconds at a time. Then Maximoff flicks her wrist, and blood-red tendrils travel up his arms and there's nothing he can do. With a grunt, Tony sinks to his knees, and slowly, achingly slowly, Rogers and Romanoff approach him, taser and shield bared.

Tony struggles, he _does,_ but ends up only hyperventilating as they come closer. His heartbeat echoes in his ears. He wants to scream, protest, but he can't.

And Romanoff tasers him, and Rogers slams the shield into his head, and it's pitch black.

* * *

They keep coming.

Tony works on his words for the interview, and Rhodey's spine, and sometimes does things with Pepper.

And the nightmares keep on coming.

They change. Sometimes Romanoff and the others are there. Sometimes not. But Rogers never fails to show up, with his stupid shield, and Tony always wakes up and double-checks that it's still in his custody. His suit is mended in hours. Pepper finds out and he tells her that he's the only Avenger left.

_(He killed the rest.)_

Pepper nods and says she understands.

Two days in, he stops sleeping.

He drinks more coffee than he knows is medically safe, and smiles every time someone walks into the room, and when he's lucky he gets an hour or two before he's forced awake.

The third day, Ross calls him again. He wants Tony to explain himself and the meeting, and to change his mind. Tony doesn't.

That night, the Avengers are back. Tony fights and loses and they're about to kill him–

And Peter, _Peter_ of all the goddamn people Tony could imagine, is there. Looking at him with horrified eyes.

* * *

When Tony wakes up, he can't take it any longer. The whispers he hears in the tower are now shouts and yelps and screams, each one going against him. Every screwdriver he drops when his hands shake too hard sounds like the shield and his armor clashing. Every flash of red is Romanoff and every sudden gust of wind is an arrow from Barton and he _has_ to leave.

He calls Rhodey and reserves a table a the most obscure cafe he can find. Armed with a shapeless hoodie and shades, he leaves.

"What's up, man?" Rhodey says when they sit down together. "I'm not gonna lie, you had me worried."

"Nothing's up," Tony lies, using his tinted lenses to hide he black under his eyes. "The Tower sort of kills you when you stay there for too long. I wanted to get out, you know?"

"Yeah, I get it." Rhodey leafs through the menu and shoots Tony questioning glance, but Tony motions that he isn't hungry. "Moving out the med wing could be the highlight of my year."

"How is it, actually?"

He knows how it is. He knows every inch of the damned compounds; his nightmares are making sure of it. But anything to distract him.

Rhodey's answers start to get longer, and Tony allows himself to get lost in the words. His new room is in the left wing, with a flatscreen and a view of the training grounds–_Romanoff's, then_–and physiotherapy works well for him. Tony doesn't know how, but they move on to thoughts of their dorms from college, and then a list of every stupid thing Tony did as a reckless fourteen-year-old, and for the first time in days he isn't on edge. He grins, and chuckles, and at one point laughs so hard his head falls into his chest and he leans into the table.

And that's his mistake. His glasses fall off.

Tony Stark's face is laid bare to the entire world.

Tony hunts for them quickly–Rhodey helps and watches the people around them–but it's at least a few minutes before he gets them onto his face. Though pandemonium hasn't erupted, there's no way he hasn't been spotted.

With his heartbeat back in his ears, and slow, steady movement, he and Rhodey start talking again.

It's twenty minutes before somebody approaches them.

It isn't what he expects, though. Almost no one has seen Tony, and the person who walks up to him is a little kid who can't be a day over seven. The boy has tousled, fluffy hair and soulful eyes, and holds a picture sketched in crayon.

"Hey, bud," Tony says, trying to keep his voice low. "Something you need?"

"You're Tony Stark, right?"

There's a moment where he debates denying it. But it's obvious the kid isn't looking for confirmation. Rhodey seems to agree, and covertly nods at him.

"That's me. But keep it down, okay?"

The kid nods, looking around him like someone's about to blow their cover. Against all inhibitions, Tony chuckles.

The kid flashes his paper at Tony. It's a crude drawing of the six original Avengers, from years ago.

_No, kid. Anything but that._

His heart starts to beat faster. He feels it.

"I drew this some time ago. I wanted to give it to the Avengers, but they aren't here anymore. Are the Avengers coming back, Mr. Stark?"

_(You killed the Avengers_._)_

No, no they're not.

Tony tries to say it, but his mouth runs dry. His hands start to shake. The glass of water he's holding spills.

"Tony?" Rhodey sounds like he's talking through water. "You okay?"

Tony can't breathe.

_He can't breathe._

"Tony?"

"Mr. Stark?"

"Kid, come back later." Rhodey sounds scared. "Tony?"

_(You killed the Avengers.)_

He killed them and now everything's blurry and he can't breathe.

"Tony. _Tony."_

Tony thinks he's hyperventilating. He isn't sure.

_"Tony!"_

Everything goes black.

* * *

**oooh, that's intense! my first cliffhanger! I hope it was up to standards, and please follow, favorite and review! Make me lose it completely out of joy!**

**and, for anyone who felt the need to skip those scenes, Tony has two nightmares: one where Steve kills him for "killing Bucky" (a product of the dream) and one where Steve, Widow, Hawkeye, Wanda, and Bucky do the same. The last part is an anxiety attack after which he falls unconscious.**

**Seriously, though, I love everyone reading this. thanks again!**

**Till August!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey again! I've finally returned. I had a bit of an off week but I'm back to writing and I couldn't be happier! It's a Saturday upload because yesterday was crazy crazy preparations for Eid (Eid Mubarak!) **

**anyways, here it is! happy reading!**

* * *

_"Never be enough, I'm the prodigal son_

_I was born to run, I was born for this"_

-Whatever It Takes, Imagine Dragons

Tony wakes in a hospital room.

Except–that's not right. He's supposed to keep out of the public eye. And his billionare self spending the night in some medical room is easily the worst way he could possibly do that.

Whatever happened, Tony tries to remember it.

He was with Rhodey. Talking, laughing. Shades and hooded jacket on to hide from the cameras. He remembers dropping his glasses–maybe he hit his head too hard?

But that's not enough to land him here, so it isn't the glasses. Tony strains to remember the other details. It's a foreign feeling, having to fight for his memory. Usually he's tripping over himself to lock them away.

It finally comes to him, a few minutes later. A kid with young eyes, tousled hair and a slightly intimidated face. A drawing, its lines sharp and sketched in crayon. Blue and red for Captain America, standing in the middle. Black topped with the same red for the Widow. A massive Hulk–at least twice their size–in dark green; silver, pink and yellow for Thor, a full suit of black for Hawkeye. His own red and gold soaring above them.

Tony doesn't make it a habit to remember kids' drawings. He likes to sign them and hand them back to the children, then promptly forget them. Even Pepper agrees that taking them home would do too much for his ego. After all it's just blobs coloured onto blobs, barely distinguishable by colour. But it's there in Tony's head; crystal clear.

He remembers it, because he can't remember anything after.

The room he's in is clean and empty, fitted with a heart monitor and a flatscreen TV. There's a fluffy white rug on the hardwood–no stains–and the walls shine like they've never been scuffed. His mattress is ridiculously soft, topped with pillows and a blanket he's ninety-percent sure is not standard issue. A few wicker chairs are spread about the room–those are expensive, usually, aren't they? And there's this eerie silence. No cars, no yelling. No New York.

He's a little thrown off by how quiet it is, how every item exudes perfection. Tony knows hospitals to usually be a little more conservative with their facilities–seriously, he think's he's just seen a _bean bag chair _tucked in the the corner–and they definitely don't do hotel-level mattresses and soft rugs. Not even if their patient just so happens to be Tony Stark.

Tony scans his immediate surroundings for the emergency button that's meant to call a nurse in. Usually red, he thinks. It's a minute before he realizes there aren't buttons like that around here.

As irrational as it is, Tony freaks out. Again.

He's alone in a white room. There's no windows, he notices. There's no button to call for help, Rhodey was there before Tony fainted and now he isn't, he did something hospital worthy after seeing a goddamn_ kid's drawing_–

Then the door bursts open, and Tony freaks out in a different kind of way.

He sits up straighter. He tries to leave the bed to stand. Then he realises it's Rhodey who entered, Pepper on his tail. Tony collapses back into the mattress, sighing.

Rhodey is here. _Pepper's_ here. Whatever his mind is telling him, he's safe.

Rhodey looks scared out of his mind, though. There are two paper cups balanced on the arm of his wheelchair. "Tony, we're really sorry, we just went to get coffee–"

Pepper interrupts. "Are you okay? How are you feeling?"

They both look worse for wear. Pepper's hair sticks up in more than one place, and her makeup is smudged. Rhodey's got bags under his dark eyes, and a death grip on the wheels.

Haunted eyes, both of them. He freaks out a _third_ time, but manages to keep it internal.

"I'm... fine," he starts, looking between the two. Rhodey visibly relaxes. "Great, actually. What happened? And where am I?"

"The Avengers Compound," Rhodey says, giving Pepper one of the cups. She chugs it. Tony wonders if he looks that crazed when he does the same thing. "You, uh. You freaked out on us, buddy."

"Freaked... out?"

"Yeah." Rhodey's voice is slightly slurred, like he hasn't slept in a while. "Some kid gave you something, and you started shaking, and hyperventilating. You didn't answer me when I tried talking to you. It was pretty scary to watch."

Tony... freaked out?

He's confused, and it has to show on his face, because Pepper suddenly gives him this tight, sympathetic smile and walks up to rest her hand on his shoulder.

He can't for the life of him remember what followed his interaction with that kid. It's like he saw the picture and it all went black–

Black, as in unconcious–

Unconcious because there's no air in him–

_He can't breathe_.

The shirt under his hoodie shrinks, it cuts off the blood in his arms as he starts shaking, there's a low moan instead of the creepy silence–

And then Pepper's hand softly squeezes his shoulder, and he's back in the hospital room.

Tony looks to Pepper. His heart is straining against his chest, blood leaving a dull _thud_ as it travels through his body. It's a wonder she's still holding him. But Tony gets it now. When he speaks, it's with quiet understanding.

"I freaked out."

Pepper nods. She doesn't speak; just wipes at her eyes even though she isn't crying.

The silence is back, stringent and dominating as ever, but at least it makes sense. He's not in New York. Maybe technically. He's in an abandoned field, more than an hour from the city center. Which, considering the circumstances of his loss of conciousness, isn't very relieving.

"D'you guys actually drive me all the way here before you treated me?"

"Nah, I had them check you out somewhere else first. We got out the minute they confirmed you'd be okay."

"I came here and got things ready for you," Pepper adds.

_Shit._ Tony covers his face and lets out a volley of curses.

"Hey." His eyes are still covered, but the hears the sound of wheels turning. "Tony, _hey._ You don't have to worry. The details are confidential, and there were only a few cameras anyway. You and I have a solid alibi."

"I have a meeting with the Times in _days,_ Rhodey. I can't have attacks in streaming daylight, not now."

"That's what you're worried about?" Pepper interjects.

"What do you mean?" Tony turns to look at her, and so does his friend.

Pepper's concerned face hasn't changed. But her voice is clearer. Words clipped and unimpressed.

"Tony, you just had a panic attack. That's not something to take lightly."

"Oh, come on–'freak out' is a much nicer term."

"Not when it's the same _freak out_ you had four years ago." Rhodey furrows his brows, and Tony realizes neither of them ever told him about those issues. Pepper's voice softens, for just a minute. "You're seriously not worried?"

"Not in the slightest." It's not a lie. He isn't worried–not about himself, at least.

"So it's just this one... incident at the bar with Rhodey? Nothing else?"

Rhodey keeps looking between the two of them like they're a fast-paced tennis match. And then looks down like there's a puzzle piece he's displaced. Poor guy. Tony's going to have to remind him of his first ever incident later. He chews on Pepper's question for a few seconds.

"Not that I'm aware of."

Okay, that is most definitely a lie, down to every letter he strung together to form that sentence. He's had unending nightmares for nearly a week, extorted a loophole in F.R.I.D.A.Y's impeccable coding just to spend more time in the lab, and rebuilt his suit and the shield after promising Pepper he'd never wear it again, not without a reason.

But what Pepper can't see is what she can't hold against him. And Tony is _fine._ He doesn't need to be coddled, not after he just decided to make fixing the Accords part of his agenda. So he doesn't allow the muscles in his face to move–it's not that hard–and meets Pepper's disbelieving eyes with a shrug of his own. From her point of view, F.R.I.D.A.Y hasn't breathed a word about him, and he's moved on from whatever happened with the wormhole (Both of which, Tony realizes triumphantly, are true. He's not lying that bad.)

His girlfriend squeezes his shoulder one more time and gives him a tired smile, and says she'll go get him something from the vending machine.

As soon as the click of her heels fades, Rhodey turns to him.

"What," Tony asks before his friend can get a word in, "no hospital-produced crap? I get to have chips from the get-go?"

"No hospital-produced crap if you're not sick." Rhodey's answer is more formal than Tony expects it to be, and he turns to his friend, surprised. The man's face is set in stone. "What's all this stuff about a freak out four years ago?"

Tony sighs and rests his head against the wall. He closes his eyes and tries to seperate himself from the paranoia.

"Remember that time in the bar? Right after the crap with the wormhole."

Rhodey raises his eyebrows. Tony's a bit hurt that his friend doesn't remember, but then reminds himself he never even _let_ Rhodey see him panic. He just ran out to his suit and asked J.A.R.V.I.S–God, _J.A.R.V.I.S,_ Tony misses him–for an analysis.

"You and I were in a bar, and this kid walked up to us with a picture she wanted me to sign–"

"And you broke the crayon?"

His eyes widen and a hidden light seems to shine in them, and Tony nods, fighting to keep his face neutral. Rhodey watches him as he starts to fiddle with the blanket.

"Don't remember what I told you, but J.A.R.V.I.S took the liberty of diagnosing me with a panic attack. Anxiety attack, whatever. Doesn't matter much."

Rhodey stares at him, face almost pained. "This was four _years_ ago."

"As I recall."

_Drop it. Drop it._ Tony hasn't lasted this long for Rhodey to bring up the past now. He wants to be fine. He _is_ fine, when he's not being reminded of his problems.

"And you never thought to–maybe–mention it?"

_No, I didn't want it to be real_. And it _isn't_ real. Not anymore.

"Pepper and I took care of it. I don't get attacks anymore."

_"You don't–"_ Rhodey laughs, a short, harsh thing that does nothing to hide his disbelief. And hurt–Tony can tell he's hurting, the way his grip on the wheels tightens, just slightly, and he holds a fake smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Tony, those don't just go away."

"They did for me." They _did._ He looks Rhodey in the eye, awful as it is to see his friend hurting, to prove it. Then works a grin onto his face. "Wait. If they don't just go away, does that make me a new discovery? Do I get a Nobel Prize for medicine?"

"You _have_ a Nobel Prize. In physics. For 'achieving control over light waves to build holographic patterns."

_Change of topic. Perfect_.

"Really? I don't remember."

"Yeah, you spent the night at a casino then gave it to some man who just lost."

"That was nice of me."

"And it's not the point." Tony internally groans. Rhodey looks like he's trying to break through the hurt. "I see this in soldiers all the time. The ones who try to hide it are the worst of all." He uses his Colonel voice. It's soft, but it's firm and leaves no room for argument.

Tony argues anyway.

"Awesome, but I'm no soldier."

He's the face on every magazine cover and the headline of every news channel. And if says he's fine, Rhodey should just accept that and move on to someone who isn't.

"That makes it worse." Rhodey reaches out to Tony's shoulder. Pepper did the same, just ten minutes ago–actually, why isn't she back yet?–but this time Tony tenses and almost jerks away. "Pepper, she's–she's wonderful. She cares about you. But she can't help with everything."

"Lucky for her she doesn't need to." Tony's voice begins to harden. "Because nothing is wrong."

"So it's just this one anxiety attack." Tony nods. "You haven't had debilitating nightmares. Or flashbacks. You aren't building things because of stress."

"Nope." He looks away from Rhodey, just for a second. His chest starts to tighten again. Rhodey's hit the nail on the head.

"Whatever happened in Siberia isn't killing you."

Just the mention of it knocks the air out of his chest.

_Whatever happened_. Tony realizes now that only Pepper knows about that. Rhodey was drifting in and out of conciousness during the fight.

Tony's about to bite back with a furious retort–he doesn't bring up Siberia for a reason and Rhodey might be in the dark but he should know better–but the click of heels just outside the door silences them both.

"I'm sorry, man," Rhodey murmurs, looking him in the eye, "I didn't want to bring it up. But I need you to think about what I said, okay?"

His sentence ends just as Pepper comes in, a bagel, a bag of chips and a coffee cup balanced in her arms. Tony's gaze lingers on Rhodey's just long enough to see that his friend means no harm. He turns to Pepper with a grateful smile, and grabs at the coffee and chips, pointedly ignoring the bagel.

"Sorry about the delay," Pepper says, clueless to the heated discussion the men just had. "I remembered you probably haven't eaten since yesterday–Tony, are you taking the bagel or not?"

"I'm allergic to sesame seeds." He makes his reply through a mouthful of chips.

"No, you're not."

"Like you'd know."

"As a matter of fact I do. I was your secretary for years."

"Thought I'd leave something for you to have, then."

Pepper scolds him, but her heart isn't in it. Tony spends the next twenty minutes trying to avoid that bagel–like hell he's eating something with that many vegetables in it when he feels so sick–and the two of them make it their mission to get it in him. He dodges and throws chips at them, and suddenly Pepper cracks up, then so does Rhodey and Tony watches them for only half a beat before he chuckles too. Then the three of them are laughing, and it's loud and needless and obnoxious, and it's exactly what Tony needs right now.

They still want to talk about the bar, Tony knows. He can see it in the way Pepper and Rhodey sneak furtive glances when they think he isn't looking, how the hand Rhodey's slapped onto his shoulder is more than just a way to stay balanced. But for the first time since he woke up they're treating him the way they normally would. Pepper attempts to push the bagel into his hands anyways and yells (laugh-yells, _nothing_ she says comes out right), and Rhodey takes turns making fun of both of them, and Tony hangs back, sarcasm and somewhat rude jabs just a heartbeat away. They're treating him like the nuisance they know him to be, and for one of very few times, he's grateful.

They continue argue about food, and spill quite a bit of it on the bed sheets, and an hour later a medic comes and discharges him.

Pepper wheels Rhodey out, and Tony steps in time with her, the floor swaying only slightly. They're trading jabs, and he almost forgets about the bar and the voices in the tower and the nightmares.

Almost.

* * *

"F.R.I.D.A.Y, run topics to broach one more time."

"You will mention the Accords and their injustice, announce that the Avengers are on a break and regrouping, and request that Congress and the United Nations rethink their terms. You will allude to the Raft without naming it. A backup topic is the renewal of your relationship with Miss Potts."

"Cool."

"You will not threaten anyone, name the Raft, discuss the the events at the airport or Siberia, or invoke Ross' name directly. A full list of items you will not discuss has been shared with the New York Times' senior editor."

Tony sighs, about to thank her, when F.R.I.D.A.Y makes one final comment.

"Additionally you may not make passive-aggressive comments about any world leaders."

"Sure thing–wait, what?"

"That would be my addition," Pepper chirps, fixing his tie. "Not that you're bad at interviews–"

"I literally do one every week on normal days."

"–Exactly, but you tend to get a bit sidetracked when you dicuss people you don't like."

Tony frowns at her and shrugs. "Who doesn't?"

"All I'm saying is," Pepper curtly responds, leaving his tightened tie with a satisfying pat, "you're already in enough trouble with the government. Try not to annoy them for a while."

"Miss Potts, you ask too much of me." He accepts the blazer she hands him with a grateful nod. Pepper crosses her arms and gives him a meaningful look, so Tony resolves to leave out the snide comments. Most of them, anyways.

There's an hour left until he meets the Times, and thanks to Pepper and her punctuality, he's minutes away from being fully dressed. Happy is parked downstairs, probably grumbling about something, and F.R.I.D.A.Y rattles off the main points they've come to while on Notepad Mode. There's little things he remembers that she hasn't mentioned–not because they're bad ideas, but because the points F.R.I.D.A.Y does make are more important. There's things like _laugh, sneak in a few jokes_ and _remind the public just how much they loved the Avengers_, and even a short_ talk about a kid you saved_ because the sadistic part of him knows people love nothing more than the story of kids being saved.

He succeeds at remembering it all, largely because F.R.I.D.A.Y has iterated this list more than once, at his command. A few jabs at Pepper and a suit jacket later, he's ready, and they both head for the elevator.

"Now." Pepper begins, slipping into the secretary voice from years ago. She probably hardly realises it, but it reminds Tony of the first time he wanted his then-assistant to be something more, and it's adorable. "You're going to be live, so you need to remember your posture and take off your sunglasses. They'll ask you things you don't want to discuss anyways, and you can just say you have no comment on the matter. Call the Avengers by their hero names–it's Cap, not Rogers–and you have to cut it short at four–"

"To meet the shareholders and announce my official return as an innovator," Tony finishes. Pepper nods at him–impressed, he thinks–and he finished the mini-speech for her. "We're here to convince everyone the Avengers deserve to come back, not that the government sucks."

"I won't be able to watch, I've got a meeting." She reaches up and gives him a short kiss, and he grins at her. "I know you'll do great. Good luck."

He isn't that nervous, really. But something about Pepper's words helps quell the energy building inside him, and with a quick goodbye, Tony exits the building.

Anxiety attacks and nightmares be damned. He will not mess this up. _He will not mess this up._

* * *

Happy is nicer than usual during the short drive from Stark Tower to the New York Times office. He only brings up Peter's daily reports once. And even then begrudgingly admits that he's a good kid, albeit one with boundary issues.

_Daily reports_. Huh. Since the fiasco at the bar Tony's been so preoccupied with the press he hasn't heard a single one. It's only a few days, but it makes him feel a twinge of guilt. Especially with the knowledge that he's the only one actually listening to them.

Doesn't matter–as far as the kid's concerned, Happy listens to them and loves them–and until Tony can shake this interview away it's going to have to be enough.

When he arrives, the office is devoid of character. It's stock photos on beige walls, and an enormous window, which he finds slightly odd–usually massive companies like the Times fight tooth and nail to impress him for celebrity endorsement–but he isn't complaining. It helps him downplay the importance of this meeting; pretend that public opinion on the Avengers and the Accords doesn't depend on what he has to say today. In the few days that have passed since he made this appointment, advertisements and news channels have fixated on it. The Times has struck a deal with CNN to broadcast the entire thing, while they print other details. An estimated twenty, _thirty_ million people will be watching.

Which isn't a problem. He's dealt with even more. But the weight of what he might have to say drags him down.

Before he can think for much longer, the group files in. A man and a woman operate the camera and lighting, and someone else fixes him with a microphone and some makeup. Some others do odd jobs: bringing coffee, adjusting things around the room, helping the camera crew with their tripods. A woman with a clipboard and a pen takes a seat and motions toward another before her, which Tony takes. In less than a minute they're ready to begin.

"Morning, Mr. Stark," she says, with a professional smile. She is wearing a blazer over a button-up shirt, and her hair is pulled into a neat bun. She looks like a business executive. Good. _It's just like back home,_ he thinks again.

"I'm April Goldsmith, and I work for CNN Live Today. Big fan of yours, actually. I will be discussing recent events that have taken place concerning the Avengers."

Everyone except the required crew exits, leaving him with the lady, the cameramen, and two New York Times' writers who stand ready with tapes and notebooks. They're seconds away from starting.

Tony remembers Pepper's words. Thank God for them, because he needed them after all. He removes his glasses fixes his jacket, and adjusts his posture. He nods and says a few words of greeting, while Goldsmith mutters something into her earpiece and motions to the cameramen. He's guessing some sort of introductory segment is playing right now.

"Alright Mr. Stark, we are going live in five, four..." she counts slowly, and Tony _swears_ he isn't nervous but his heart feels like it's been dunked in ice.

No. No. He won't mess this up. The public will adore him by the time this ends. He'll reverse the Accords by the end of the month. He will.

"One," Goldsmith says, and a red light blinks and his face is broadcast all over the world. "Mr. Stark, as you and I both know, we are here to dicuss the complicated events that have taken place over the last few months."

"That would be correct."

Okay. Awesome. Great. His first answer is concise and cocky and confident. He sounds like himself.

Now, to do that for the next hour or so.

"Namely, the rumours that have been circulating claiming that the Avengers have fallen apart."

Tony's heart jolts, and somehow he doesn't let it reach his eyes. "And those... rumours have come about how, specifically?"

"Neither you nor any Avenger has been seen in public for over a month. Secretary of State Thaddeus Ross has repeatedly implied that the alliance will no longer be allowed to operate. S.H.I.E.L.D representatives are unavailable for comment."

"That would be telling."

"Can you deny or confirm these rumours, Mr. Stark?"

Tony takes a deep breath. He, Pepper and F.R.I.D.A.Y have discussed this one. "I can confirm that they are partially true."

"Could you elborate?"

"Some Avengers have indeed... left the team." Goldsmith raises her eyebrows, and be hears scribbling behind him. For a second he panics but the red light reminds him, he can not afford to do that. "But not all. A sizeable amount still operate under that name. And amendments are underway to bring back the ones who left."

"What about the claim that Avengers destroyed Flughafen Leipzig-Halle airport? Evidence shows some sort of battle occured there."

_Wow._ She doesn't waste time asking the hard questions. He's heating up, like he might start sweating. Tony clears his throat and silently thanks F.R.I.D.A.Y for telling him to keep this off the list.

"I can't comment on that. It's unfortunate that it happened, though."

Goldsmith purses her lips but doesn't probe. "Well, going back to what you said: amendments?"

"Yes, amendments." Some rebellious voice in him screams _we're not doing shit,_ and Tony beats it back with a stick. _This_ is something he's doing. "They haven't left without reason. We're trying to give them a reason to return."

It's going okay, he tells himself. The interviewer, she's a fan of his and she probably _wants_ the team back together. She won't ask anything rude or personal.

Until she does.

"'They', of course, being Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, and Clint Barton among others."

He's got to take off the blazer. It's hot. Burning him.

Tony nods.

"And these reasons you mentioned. Can you share them with us?"

He thinks, _We had a massive fight and nearly killed each another._

Then he says, deceptively easy, "Of course. Most of it boils down to the Sokovia Accords."

"The Sokovia Accords," Goldsmith repeats, briefly turning to the camera, "put in place by the United Nations and agreed upon by nearly 120 countries to control the movements of the Avengers."

She turns back to him. Her voice stays detached, professional, but Tony can see the almost desperate glint in her eyes. She's just as curious as the rest of the world. "So the Avengers did not agree with the Accords."

This one he can answer more honestly. "Some did. Some didn't. It drove a wedge between team members."

"Do you believe this disagreement is grounds to oppose the government, considering they have been named fugitives of the law?"

Tony catches himself before he says yes. He twists it into something more neutral. "Ye–Well. It's all in the perspective, right?"

"Right. And what's your perspective?"

_Screw you, Goldsmith_. "Well, I'm standing here, so it's obvious I agreed to sign."

"So what you're saying is you think those who left were wrong to do so."

_God._ Reporters. He wants to roar his disagreement, call out Ross and his department. He wants to nod, to scream that the other side's incapable of reading between the lines and doing what's right. But then that doesn't look good for the rest of the Avengers. They're not all Steve Rogers.

_They're not all Steve Rogers._ That's a great way to put it. He lingers on that thought and forms his answer.

"I–I find it wrong, but I get where they're coming from. The Accords read like a first draft, almost."

"So they should ratified?"

"Exactly." _They're not all Steve Rogers_. It's not so stuffy anymore. He thinks of Wanda in a shock collar, two men without their children. The thousands of enhanced people still unknown to the world. "The principle's spot on: make sure there's no unnecessary damage caused by saving the world. But the terms provided aren't ideal. Some of them are a _clear_ violation of human rights."

"That is concerning. Any specifics?"

_Many_ specifics. It hurts to think of them all.

"Enhanced individuals tracked at all times. Secret identities made public." There's a list in his head he draws from. "Detainment without trial; that's a pretty one. No one wants to submit to something like that."

"Yet you signed, as did others." Two seconds ago she respected that decision and now she's challenging him. Tony clenches the arm of the chair. _It's her job._

"I _signed_ because I do believe in accountability," he growls. Tony's borderline making it personal, but it doesn't feel wrong. He keeps going. "I believe in protecting people and choosing the safest route. If I'm trying to fight for my life, it's better if someone else, someone who _isn't_ inches from death tells me what to do. That doesn't mean that person constantly needs to know my identity, or my location."

"So what you're saying is that you're against the Sokovia Accords."

_For God's sake._ He wants to scream. Can he scream? Has she not been listening? They'd better not write that in the Times.

"Not really. I just think the UN could rethink some parts. What the Avengers do saves _billions._" He fixes her with his hardest stare. "So maybe they need a little help. But this, this _idea_ people have had, of making heroes' lives extremely public, doesn't help at all."

Goldsmith nods, face almost impassive. Almost. "Your point is clear, but many who have witnessed the destruction caused by the Avengers in recent years wouldn't agree. Many have lost schools, homes, their cars and offices. Children and elderly have had their lives altered by the Chitauri invasion. It doesn't set a good example, either, if war hero Steve Rogers turns on his own country."

_The name_. She keeps saying his name out loud. If Tony didn't kniw better he'd say she knew, knew that it killed. Tony's seconds away from firing back, _this lady does not listen at all,_ and for _God's sake_ he isn't Rogers. Tony replaces the cars and homes. It's not like they need much else.

But then he remembers a conversation from months ago, in a limousine with a kid barely out of middle school.

_I remember in 2012, I had to take a new path to school for weeks, because my train got destroyed in the fight._

Peter. How the hell is he thinking of him?

Pete's maybe the only hero Tony knows who's had a normal life. Who watched the Avengers fight as a kid, safe from the sidelines, before he joined the fight himself. Tony recalls feeling like an epic jerk. It was a day before the battle, and he was struck with the realization that regardless of how much money he put into fixing what the Avengers broke, it wouldn't make up for the stability these people lost. It strengthened his resolve, that the Accords were _right,_ that they just needed rephrasing.

Only a few people are in the room, but Tony feels the stare of millions. Millions like Peter; their lives still intact but turned sideways because of him.

He forgets Rogers.

"I know people have lost things," Tony starts. His voice is softer. "I realize that even fixing the damage won't fix the fact that we've made life harder for others. Some people had to start walking everywhere. Others moved out of their homes."

_If someone could maybe tell them when the other things mattered, maybe that would be nicer_.

"Some had problems much bigger than the Chitauri or Ultron and no one helped them," he continues, Peter's voice somehow blending with Pepper's. He wonders if the kid's watching. It's the weekend, so it's likely. "But this instability the Avengers have caused–if the Accords are implemented as they are now, that instability falls back on _us._ I know it sounds fitting, but it only makes our job more difficult. If everyone on Earth knows your name and you could be shipped off to enhanced prison any day, life becomes much harder. Protection becomes just _that_ much less likely."

It's a weird thought, but Tony hopes Peter is watching. The crowd this interview would draw scared him, thirty minutes ago, but now he hopes it's as large as the Times predicted. Larger, even. The people need to know he wants to help. All he ever wanted to do was help.

Tony remembers going over the papers, disbelief growing as he turned the pages. The Accords were crap. _Are_ crap. They are restrictive, cruel, and definitely not thought out properly. But where Rogers and his crew saw something unacceptable, he'd seen something they could change together. Rules, that like all others, could change over time. Anything could change, given time.

Tony just never imagined doing it alone.

"I see. Mr. Stark, if you could speak to the United Nations, to Congress, what would you say? What would you say to anyone watching?"

"Congress knows what I'm thinking, trust me." Just mentioning them conjures images of Ross, and the vein probably pulsing on his forehead when he sees this. "They don't need to look further than this interview. It's the people I want to talk to."

"Very well, then. What would you say to the people?"

Tony takes a page from her book and stares directly into the camera. "We all want the same thing here. We all want justice. And the Accords, they could make that happen, but not the way they are right now. It's not going to be just the Avengers. It'll be any local hero, anyone with powers. Any teen with tech, any kid who mutated the wrong way. Anyone who isn't a hundred percent normal."

Tony lets the implications sink in.

"And as much as I am vouching for the _ratified_ Accords, I can't agree to something that. So study up. Actually google it and read it; the files are public and uncensored. Figure out whether you really think they're the best they can be, for you, for anyone that's different. And the Avengers, we'll try to bring them together again."

Tony breathes, slowly.

"So when we can get back to fighting, it'll be on _everyone's_ terms."

There's a few more questions, but Tony gets through them in minutes, and with a flourish Goldsmith announces the end of the segment. It doesn't measure up to the forty-five minutes it was. When they let him go, he stumbles on his way to the elevators. He gets into the car with Happy, dazed and confused, and they're ten minutes away from the tower when something bubbles in his chest. It's light and easy, and _happy._

Tony didn't mess this up.

_He didn't mess this up_.

* * *

Tony arrives at the tower only five minutes past four, and makes up for it by breezing through the shareholder's meeting without so much as a stutter. It concludes at 5PM, then he races to the penthouse, determined to be there before Pepper.

She arrives first, anyways, and Tony freezes when he sees her. She's wearing the same blue dress from downstairs. Grinning, almost laughing. There's a delicate sheen of tears coating her eyes. They've never been so, so _starry._

F.R.I.D.A.Y told him on the way up to the penthouse; public opinion on the Avengers has shifted dramatically. There are fan accounts, protests, forums, petitions. All linked to rewriting the Accords, all trusting _Tony's_ judgement, _Tony's_ words. News and opinion articles are calling the Accords a sham. Nearly a dozen congressmen and women have spoken _in his favor._ Something inside him is bursting, and he wants to hold onto it forever. Rogers doesn't even make an appearance. People trust him and he's finally done something useful and the vision he had might be falling into place and _God_ Tony has not been this happy in a long time.

"Hey, Pep." He wants to hug her, but he wants to figure out why she's crying, and he wants the whole world to know he feels invincible right now. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Pepper chokes out, then giggles, then because she's eccentric tonight she sprints toward him and crushes him in a hug.

"No fair, I wanted to hug you first."

"Tony, I watched the interview while you were at the meeting. F.R.I.D.A.Y recorded it. I'm _so_ proud of you, the way you took control and told everyone what you wanted, even though the questions were awful. You followed the plan, and you improvised, and it worked _so_ well. You did amazing today."

Tony smiles into her shoulder and holds her closer. He can't believe how much he adores this incredible woman. What he did to deserve her, he'll never know.

"So how are we going to celebrate? Champagne, swimming pool, reckless drive through the city." Her fingers are drumming against his back as she counts.

Tony considers their options. Pepper makes some fantastic points. But–

"How about wine and a sappy movie?"

The question strikes even him as strange. It's enough for Pepper to release Tony, after which she looks at him like he's gone insane.

"Really? No champagne or parties?" Tony grins when he notices her poorly-masked joy. "You just want to stay here?"

"Yeah." Pepper laughs again, sharp and sudden, and for that sound Tony's willing to never go to a party again. "Today turned out... so much better than I expected it to. And I want to be here, when I celebrate. I want it with only you and Rhodey."

"Okay, big guy." Tony chuckles, then Pepper pulls him in for what's possibly the best kiss he's ever had.

Her hands find their way in his hair, and the warmth from her flushed cheeks coats him. He strokes the soft fabric of her dress and presses her closer, _closer,_ until she fits into him and today's victory becomes theirs. Pepper sighs, dreamlike, and Tony laughs, and it's sloppy but perfect. Their lips stay locked for five whole minutes.

When Tony pulls away he's sweaty and breathless and so is his she.

He doesn't think twice before he leans in to do it again.

* * *

Rhodey arrives a little after sunset. He finds Tony and Pepper wrapped around each other on the biggest couch Tony has, halfway through The Notebook. Tony smiles at him and waves him over. They talk about the interview as Rhodey wheels himself over, and Tony hands him a glass of wine. His friend settles just a few inches to Tony's left, and something inside Tony settles too.

Pepper is right (She always is.) There's a part of him that wishes he was speeding down a Brooklyn highway, blasting AC/DC, cheering as the world flies by.

But there's a part of that can't believe that after everything–the mess with Ross, the Accords, the fight with Steve–he's allowed to sit here with the two people he loves most; sit with the assurance that they like him too. That after his awful childhood and drunken youth he has friends to do silly things with like tear up over The Notebook and spill wine on the leather.

At first he talks to them, but soon Rhodey and Pepper take over and he's content to listen. It's been a long day.

Pepper's soft voice has a rhythm to it he can't place, and somewhere near midnight he drifts off. Something in him doesn't enjoy sleeping somewhere so public, but he shakes it off. Pepper's arms are warm, and he's tired.

That is his mistake.

_A flash of red, metal against metal, sparks that fly into his eyes._

_A plea, a snarl, a shield that never belonged to anyone but his father._

Steve Rogers kills him.

Tony wakes up with a yell–_he's not in his room where the hell is he_–he scrambles off of whatever he's in and backs up against the nearest wall.

He can't control his breathing. He's ears are ringing and he doesn't know why, and it's a few seconds before the shouts of _Tony_ filter through and he sees things right again.

He sees the twinkling city lights. The TV that hasn't been turned off. He sees Rhodey and his sad eyes, and he can tell_ I told you so_ hangs on the man's lips.

And he sees Pepper, shaking and nearly crying. Not the same way she cried before.

He doesn't know what to do.

* * *

**hey! plot! i had to reread this thing FIVE times and i'm still not quite pleased with it, but what can you do amirite. I wrote an enormous chapter to make up for the long break. Eid Mubarak again!**

**love, Mariam**


	8. Chapter 8

**OH MY GOSH IT'S BEEN SO LONG IM SO SO SORRY.**

**right. so i promised weekly updates. it has been three weeks. all i can say is that this chapter was such a pain and preparing to start school was hard and other things happened and i am so sorry. with the start of grade eleven i might have to switch to an update per fortnight (that's one every two weeks) but i'll try my best to stick to this schedule.**

**in other news, stuff has happened! Lover is out AND ITS SO GOOD? the first time i've liked pop music tbh. and I saw IT Chapter Two and it was EPIC AND WE HAVE NINETY-FIVE FOLLOWERS? WHAT THE HECK?**

**Thank you so much for bearing with my shitty upload schedule. i love you all.**

**TRIGGER WARNING: anxiety attack description from _Shit Rogers _to _the penthouse rematerializes, _and also from _Tony scrambles back _to _bleeds embarassment. _stay safe!**

* * *

_"I don't trust anything, or anyone_

_Below the sun_

_And I don't feel anything at all"_

-King Of The Clouds, Panic! At The Disco

It takes Pepper all of five minutes to calm down. Which, coincidentally, is how long she waits before she yells at him.

"'I'm fine' my _ass!_" Pepper flies off the couch and starts running her hands up his arms. Her eyes are watering, face contorted and _pissed._

Tony's brain, though, hasn't quite woken up yet. He flinches against the wall, eyes blinking at her, seeing but not understanding and _what the hell is going on?_ Why is Pepper inspecting him? Deep inside, something is panicking. He can't quite reach it yet.

"Morning, Pep."

It's not morning, not by a long shot. Tony's voice is gravelly and a little strained. Did he yell in his sleep? God, he hopes not. Pepper's furious. Or terrified. He doesn't know which but he doesn't want to aggravate it.

He's aggravating it anyways, because his thoughts are way slower than usual and in the short amount of time he's studied Pepper she's given him a speech and a half and Tony has heard none of it.

God. Tony's really blown it now. This wasn't supposed to happen.

"–you said you were _fine,_ you always say you're fine when you're not and I am_ sick of it,_ Tony–"

"Pepper–"

Tony whips around and Rhodey is there, eyes wide as he takes them in. Tony forgot he was there. His heart is still pounding–he usually calms down by now but everything is weird and Pepper's screaming definitely doesn't help–and something in him is relieved that Rhodey's with them.

"Not now, Rhodes, I'm _done_ with Tony's bull–"

"Pepper!" His voice becomes commanding and Pepper stops talking. Tony closes his eyes and relaxes against the wall. _Finally._ "Let the man breathe. He's just had a nightmare."

Right. That's where Tony was. In a nightmare, with metal and ringing and Rogers–

_Shit. Rogers._

Suddenly Pepper's hands on his shoulders are vices. But that's ridiculous–it's _Pepper_ and they would never hurt each other–and yet Tony heaves and _pushes_ and wants her off of him, because everything hurts and he can swear it's Rogers doing the hurting. The hands readily let go, and he leans against the wall, panting, but something is still wrong and his panting turns into hyperventilating and he feels sick to his stomach, and his mouth is way too dry and he can't say a word, then his knees buckle and he falls and someone screams–

The air around his shoulders shifts and he's about to be hit again, _shit,_ but whoever's doing it stops last minute and lets Tony breathe. Or at least try to breathe. He heaves and gasps and it's like the oxygen has left the room, and it's all he can hear; the air rushing into his throat and blood pounding in his skull. For a long time he stays like that, gasping and heaving and trying to see or hear but it's all blurry and silent–_where the hell are Pepper and Rhodey?_– and he doesn't know how long it is before a sound breaks through the blur.

"–ony." It's Rhodey, his voice soft. Laced with–fear? "Tony, breathe. _Breathe._ It's only temporary. It'll be over soon, just breathe."

If anything Tony panics more, because _goddamn it_ he's been breathing forever and it's useless, he's not getting any air–

"Not like that. Tony, you're going too fast. One, two." Rhodey says it slowly, drumming against the arm of the wheelchair. "With me, come on. One. Two. In, out."

Rhodey's voice takes on a steady rhythm, and Tony clings to it like it's the only thing that exists. And slowly, him and Pepper fade back into focus, and the penthouse re-materialises.

"Better?"

Tony nods and stretches his legs out from under him, collapsing against the wall. He's never taking the floor beneath his feet for granted again. He sits there for ten minutes, breathing slow and deliberate, trying to feel anything but tired; before he hears Pepper's voice crack.

"_Crap,_ I'm so sorry." She looks terrified, and leans in to touch him like he might break. "I was scared, I shouldn't have yelled at you–"

He likes being held by her but he can't stand the thought of touching others right now. He gently pushes her hand away, and mumbles, "S'okay. Wasn't your fault."

There's a pause where he thinks she might protest but everyone knows it would be useless. So she instead composes herself.

"I'm still sorry. But Tony," Pepper says. Her words are strained, like she's vying to keep them controlled. "What's going on? Really."

He shouldn't lie. It's obvious, so obvious; and he's near-certain Pepper's going to tear him apart if he tries.

_After-effect of my anxiety attack_ comes to the forefront of his mind. It's easy to say, easy to prove, and then–

And then Tony keeps living like this.

Nightmares every two days. An attack just around the corner. The two people closest to him never fully at ease around him. He'll constantly be on-edge, telling F.R.I.D.A.Y to keep his secrets and trying not to hyperventilate in front of reporters; anxiety fueling his every move.

The last time he kept this from Pepper, she nearly left him. Then actually left him, two years later.

_No._ That's not going to fly with him. Pride be damned, he _will_ make this work with her. Tony won't lose her, not a second time.

Tony closes his eyes and breathes in. He tries his hardest to make it slow. There's a weight on his shoulder, and he opens his eyes to find Rhodey nodding at him. He must have wheeled himself over.

"You got this, man. Just say everything on your mind."

Tony exhales, and forces himself to look Pepper in the eyes. In the dark they morph from a deep blue to a smoky sort of gray. They're red-rimmed, the makeup around them smudged since Pepper never bothered to wipe it off last night. Tony reminds himself, _this is what he wants._ He wants to keep seeing Pepper, keep looking into those eyes.

Then he talks.

"It started–I guess it started a couple weeks back, the first time Ross called."

Pepper raises her eyebrows. "_Ross_ called you? Secretary of State, Thaddeus Ross?"

"The one and only."

"And... what did he want?" Rhodey ventures, bracing himself like the answer scares him.

"Wanted me to find Rogers and his crew," Tony says, shrugging. He avoids looking either of them in the eye. "I said no, he got mad, you know the story. I'm not sending anyone to the Raft, not as long as he's in charge."

He waits for one of them to say something. No one talks, so Tony continues.

"Then that night they started. I started getting these–these nightmares? Haven't had them in a while. It's like a Siberia Part Two except Rogers wins, every time." Tony lets the implications of that sink in. "So I fixed the suit; made a new shield. Tried to convince myself the dreams weren't real. Obviously, that failed spectacularly, because I'm standing here now."

He still can't face them but he hears Pepper's soft breathing. She gives him a minute of silence before the questions start.

"How come F.R.I.D.A.Y never told me?"

"I told her to round up sleeping durations. As long as I get more than six hours total she doesn't say anything."

"And the bar?" Rhodey asks.

"The kid had this drawing of the Avengers." Tony tries to stay flippant because now that it's out there, out loud, it sounds so _stupid,_ a goddamn drawing scaring him like that. "_Which,_ fun fact, was a two-in-one package. Memories from Siberia and memories from the wormhole rolled into one."

Pepper's voice is hard when she says, "That's not funny."

"Really?" Tony sees their stony expressions. _This_ was why the nightmares stayed private. Everyone's happier without them. "I don't know, it sounds like a great movie. An eccentric billionare can do anything except talk to kids, starring Hugh Grant and the Home Alone kid."

No one laughs.

"Tony," Pepper says. She stands up straighter and makes direct eye contact. Nausea starts to pool in his chest. Even Rhodey appears tense.

"Tony, I can't watch you live like this. We need to get you a therapist."

* * *

He's on his feet and out the room so fast the nausea builds up again.

He doesn't know where in the penthouse to go–his room reminds him of the nightmares and the kitchen reeks of Steve Rogers' team–and so his body takes him to the one place where he's never been judged, never been rebuffed.

The lab, when the doors open, is so beautiful he almost cries.

Tony finds a bench almost instantly and falls into it, panting.

"Boss, Miss Potts is asking for your location."

"Cl-Classified," Tony chokes out, looking for the speakers F.R.I.D.A.Y talks from. "Classified info, F.R.I.D.A.Y. Until I say otherwise."

"As you wish," she replies, oblivious to his panic. "Though if I may, I suspect she'll find you without much trouble."

"Hm?"

"You're in one of your most obvious locations, boss."

Tony doesn't have the energy to argue with her. He slumps onto the table, waiting for the elevator doors to open and for Pepper to storm in. God, it's too late–too early? The sun's not up–for this mess. He just wanted to celebrate a job well done and go to sleep.

When five minutes pass without Pepper's voice interrupting him, Tony looks up from the table to check if she's there. She isn't. F.R.I.D.A.Y tells him before he can ask.

"Miss Potts intended to visit you, boss, but it appears Colonel Rhodes has advised her against it."

Rhodey is–Rhodey's beyond remarkable. Tony has to thank him later. He drops his head back onto the table with a relieved sigh. Something tells him he won't leave soon.

_We need to get you a therapist_.

That's not happening. Tony's doing great on his own. He will not pay some stranger for free confession sessions. He never needed them, not as a kid and not as an Avenger and definitely not now. He's made it through an entire interview, on _live TV,_ without breaking down. Except for today his nightmares never get to him for more than five minutes. And if the wormhole means anything, he'll grow out of it all in a few months. No heart-to-hearts with strangers needed.

But then–Pepper. Pepper, who left him because of this exact situation all those months ago. He can't decide if she's bossy or right. She's never been wrong in the eight years he's known her, but something about that word, _therapist,_ makes him die a little on the inside.

She's said it before. Between kisses, laughing at Tony's cynicism; or deadpan when he makes one of his insane suggestions. Tony laughed along with her. But today there's none of that. Pepper is serious and disappointed, and now that she's looked him in the eye she's never going to drop it.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y," Tony mumbles, tracing a finger against the table, "I'm okay, right?"

"Your vitals are slightly below average, boss, but hardly life-threatening."

"No, Fri, not like that." He furrows his brows and tries to explain. "Like, mentally okay. You think Pepper's onto something with the nightmares and the therapy?"

"You do seem significantly distressed after each dream, boss." Tony looks up at the ceiling again, unimpressed. F.R.I.D.A.Y's supposed to side with _him._ "In addition, according to WebMD, your symptoms match with descriptions of multiple anxiety disorders–"

"Okay, stop. No more nightmare talk."

"Any other requests, sir?"

"Tell Pep I'll talk to her tonight. I'll be here if something important comes up."

F.R.I.D.A.Y dutifully redirects her consciousness to the penthouse–or wherever Pepper and Rhodey are–and leaves him in his lab, frustrated. The word 'therapist' makes his heart thump and his fingers twitch and his own stupid A.I. can't help him. Tony wants to be okay. _Is_ okay. He has overprotective friends who just caught him at the wrong time. And even if they're right, there's so much more to think about. There's the question of who to trust, how he'll even visit if he's hunted down by journalists, how to keep said journalists from sharing that information.

And another thing. A small thing.

It's a tiny chance, he's sure. But he might have to face the fact that Tony Stark isn't invincible after all. That there's something in his head that keeps him from being normal.

He needs to talk. Not to Pepper, who might still be mad. Or Rhodey who's probably consoling her. Not to F.R.I.D.A.Y, who was never designed to analyse emotions in the first place.

Considering that they are three of the four people he considers close friends (Happy is the fourth, but he's busy with his own life outside the Tower now), that doesn't work well for him.

Okay, maybe not talk. He's got past this all before, years ago, with barely a word. What he needs to do is stop _worrying._ It should be easier this time, right? Immunity and all that. You do something successfully once, and you never have to worry about doing it again. And his fears, they're all tied to the people he cares about–Pepper, Rhodey, Happy. In another lifetime, maybe the Avengers. People who, if they die, will take Tony with them.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y?"

"In need of assistance again so soon?"

Tony glares at the speakers. "How's our suit looking right now?"

"I'll be surprised if you think of something it hasn't been equipped with yet."

"Good. We're starting another one. Mark–what number are we on again?"

"The Mark 47, sir."

"Great. Begin blueprints for the Mark 47; tell me when the basic structure's done."

"Before beginning, sir, I'd like to point out that Miss Potts would not deem this necessary–"

_"F.R.I.D.A.Y."_

She almost sounds resigned when she says, "On it, sir."

Tony sighs like there's a weight on his chest that's been lifted. He almost tells F.R.I.D.A.Y _See? I'm doing great,_ before he thinks better of it.

So his suits are the best they've ever been. Every upgrade he makes to them is transferred to Rhodey's War Machine, which eliminates any of those fears. The tower and the compound are both fortified beyond belief. He can sit tight for a while and wait for the Mark 47 to come out of processing. He's considered working on the suit's defensive capabilities. Building a shield of his own. There's a new scientific field that's gaining traction, too–nanotech, he thinks–which he wants to experiment with.

But all of that will have to come after the prototype is ready. Tomorrow, at the very least.

The weight that left him snakes back into his chest, and his heartbeats aren't normal. Tony needs something that can happen _now._ He already regrets it but he calls F.R.I.D.A.Y again.

"Hey, Fri? You got anything I can work on? Like, now?"

"All your suits are either being built or operating at maximum capacity, sir."

She sounds well and truly irritated and Tony debates calling her out on it. But he's bored, and his heart hurts from all the weight dragging him down; and if there's nothing for him to do then Tony's talking to F.R.I.D.A.Y. Even if he wants to throw a screwdriver at the speakers because of her. Tony hopes she likes Stark Tower gossip.

F.R.I.D.A.Y surprises him by initiating her own response before he even starts. "However, the suit of one Peter Parker could use refining."

Tony frowns. "The kid? He's doing great."

It's not just speculation that prompts him to say it. Happy is getting more texts and reports than ever and Tony goes through them every few days. Peter has zero complaints. In fact, he's solidifying his superhero status. He stops muggers and thieves more than anything now.

"Sure, boss, but my database says his suit doesn't have nearly as many safety precautions as yours."

Tony is half a second from firing back and saying they worked in upgrades literally two weeks ago when he realizes with a start that F.R.I.D.A.Y's right. The suit was built in one day. Including upgrades, he's worked on it for maybe thirty hours total. There's a tracker, so he can check on the kid. There's no fire safety measures, or a parachute in case his web fluid breaks, or a heater in case he's stranded or an interface to warn him of attacks; hell, there's no offence or defence equipment except for the webshooters designed by a _literal fifteen year old–_

"F.R.I.D.A.Y? Could we, could we get Happy on the line?"

A dial tone answers him, and it's only when Happy groans that Tony remembers the sun hasn't even risen yet.

"There better be a gun to your head," Happy whispers, voice croaky, "or I _swear,_ Tony–"

"Sorry." He means it for once, and winces as Happy groans again. "Thought spiral, okay? This call was a spur-of-the-moment sort of thing."

Happy's quiet for a few seconds. Then, "What do you need?"

"Knew you'd give in, Hogan."

"Wouldn't be myself if I didn't."

Tony's smile is slightly more strained than usual. He mentally lists everything he wants to do as he fills Happy in.

* * *

By the time Peter shows up (And he's a lot easier to usher into the elevator this time, thank _God_), Tony has paced the lab so many times there's a ring of scuff marks hugging the walls.

Tony still can't believe he missed it. A literal _kid_ flying around in a suit not prepared for the worst-case scenario. Peter hasn't even gone through puberty. If this suit, if Spiderman ends up being what kills him, and the kid's aunt doesn't even _know–_

The blame falls on him. Tony Stark.

He doesn't think he can stomach one more murder under his name.

Peter, of course, doesn't know any of that. He's here, only somewhat less starstruck than last time; and he thinks they're working on casual updates. He definitely doesn't know that War Machine is in the tower, or that Tony's fixated on keeping the kid alive.

Tony is milling about the lobby, occasionally giving autographs to the frenzied staff–something is happening today, it's not usually this busy–when he hears the familiar squeaky voice. He has to stop himself from stealing the kid's backpack and bolting.

"Mr. Stark, hey!" Peter jogs up to him grinning, saying something about how he can't believe they're doing this again. Tony isn't paying close attention. He only listens at the end, when Peter's tone abruptly changes. "Woah, Mr. Stark. You look, like, really tired. If you want, we can leave this for another day–"

"No!"

He lashes out before he can stop himself and Peter flinches back, wide-eyed. Tony wants to wither and die–_did he really just yell at a child in broad daylight?_–but he doesn't want to scare the kid more than he already has. He needs this suit fixed. And he _needs_ to stop worrying. Tony composes himself.

"No, kid, it's fine." Peter stares at him quizzically anyway. Tony tries again. "Ignore my slip. I never get enough sleep anyways. But I've an insane amount of ideas I came up during the last two weeks and I want to integrate them into the suit, alright?"

It's so slow Tony can actually see the surprise fade out the kid's eyes. But it does happen, and Peter grins. "Awesome. Thank you again, Mr. Stark. So much. This is like, seriously cool."

_Please don't say thank you._

"No need to say it. You got the suit, told your aunt, all that good stuff?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm actually sorta saying we do this, like, every day?" Tony's eyebrows shoot up, and Peter's smile becomes just a little awkward. "Like, I need an excuse to keep patrolling and to May this is that. The excuse."

Tony tries to imagine that, working with this kid every day. It's not that it wouldn't be fun. But Peter's already enough like him without a daily dose of Tony Stark to amplify it. The internship two weeks ago was a one-time thing. A way to make sure Spiderman deserved his title. Peter's definitely earned it, but he's still infinitely better off away from Tony.

"That's okay, right?" Tony snaps out the internal monologue and looks at Peter. "Me saying you and I work together? That's okay?"

"'Course it is. You got a cover to keep."

"We can totally change it, most people think I'm lying anyway–"

_"Peter."_

"Right. Cool cover. The cover's cool."

"Absolutely. Now let's head up."

At least the elevator ride is less awkward. Peter still doesn't look directly at him, but he's not doing it on purpose, Tony thinks. They're only a few floors up when Peter talks again.

"So what are we working on this time? Maintenance, installing new things?" Peter bounces on the balls of his feet, already removing the suit from his backpack. "I got this idea for like, recording video and audio feed through the lenses–and then, later, I could check it and learn from my mistakes!"

Tony smiles. He doesn't have the heart to tell the kid that it's already there but inaccessible.

"I'll add it to the list."

Everything in that suit is for _him._ Spy on the kid in case _Tony_ needs him. Stop him from creating a mess so _Tony_ won't have to clean it up. Prevent Peter's A.I. from working so _Tony_ can judge Peter without outside influence.

God, he's been so selfish.

_It's what Howard would have done,_ something in him whispers, and Tony hates it because he knows it's true. He pushed the kid into a fight that was hardly his, and kept him nearby in case he'd be useful later. He dug into Peter's personal life and made sure he was okay to ease his own subconcious. It doesn't help that Peter won't stop trying to impress him. The disappointment in the kid's eyes from that stupid night–_why,_ why _did Tony have to embarrass him?_–returns with a vengeance.

At least he's fixing that now, right? He brought Peter in and the elevator is taking them to Tony's private lab and they'll install everything Peter might need. Right now, Tony is better than Howard ever was.

(He refuses to think he's only saying it to make himself feel better.)

They step into the workspace together, the suit fluttering in Peter's hands as he rushes to same bench they worked at last time.

"Mr. Stark, you never answered my question." It sounds like an accusation but Peter grins at Tony as he says it, laying the suit across the table. "What are we adding to this?"

Peter's eyes are so big. And hopeful, _so_ hopeful. And Tony doesn't plan on changing that. He can't look in the kid's eyes and tell him the multi-million dollar Peter owns is almost as useless as the onesie Peter once wore.

Tony strolls over to the workbench, reconsidering the plan he and F.R.I.D.A.Y discussed today morning. When he addresses Peter, it's done with the carelessness he's so famous for.

"Well, we're not working together today, per-se. Ever worked a group project where everyone actually does their job?"

To his surprise, Peter nods. Tony frowns but continues.

"Wow. Good for you. Today's group project is this suit, and I want you focused on the suit's code. F.R.I.D.A.Y pointed out a couple bugs last week and I want you to fix them." Peter's eyes go wide, and flicker in the direction of the nearest computer. "Maybe even rewrite a couple things for higher efficiency. Up to you."

Peter lets out a breathless laugh. The kid doesn't know that Tony corrupted his own code three hours ago so this could happen.

"It's all C++, but I can have it converted to Java if you need it. Think you can do that, kid?"

"Oh God, _definitely,_ Mr. Stark." His voice is higher than usual, breathy and excited, and Tony feels a little less like a liar. "It's actually my friend Ned who teaches me coding, but–oh my God, I'm coding for Stark Industries. I'm _actually_ writing code for Stark Industries, holy _shit._" Peter suddenly pauses. "But I can work on the suit too, right? Cause that's what's really fun–"

"Nope, no suit today. It's all very advanced." Tony hopes it's not cruel to say.

"I'm sure I can learn it, Mr. Stark–"

"No. Coding today, Pete. You got that?" Peter deflates slightly, but voices his understanding. "Well, no time to waste, kid."

As though he was never disappointed, Peter nods furiously and dashes to the computer he eyed earlier, while Tony instructs F.R.I.D.A.Y to bring up the faulty code. Peter is about to turn the computer on–Tony scoffs–before F.R.I.D.A.Y gently stops him.

"If I may, Mr. Parker, the device you're using is only there in case I'm unavailable."

Peter's gaze flicks up to the speakers, then to Tony. The kid's most likely still getting used to the idea of F.R.I.D.A.Y.

Tony shrugs. "She's not lying."

"So where will I be working from?"

F.R.I.D.A.Y sounds far kinder than she does on most days when she says, "Mr. Stark prefers to use these."

A chain of neon-blue pages light up around Peter, and Tony fights back a grin. The kid's eyes, already wide, damn near dilate as he stares in stunned silence.

"Mr. Stark, are those–_holograms?_"

Tony allows F.R.I.D.A.Y to answer for him. "Mr. Stark calls these holograms his work pages. Most of his experimentation and assessment occurs via virtual three-dimensional models like these, but they're also good for writing things down."

Peter lets out the same breathless laugh and moves to stroke the page, a soft _woah_ escaping him when he gets too close and the picture distorts. Tony waits long enough to watch Peter adapt to the no-doubt weird holographic keyboard in front of him. Once Peter can type somewhat quickly (he doesn't stop giggling once; Tony's getting worried), he grabs the suit.

"Well, kid, I'll leave you to it. We'll convene in three hours, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah." The kid's eyes reflect the blue from the holograms. It's all he looks at right now. "I'll see you then. Thank you again, sir!"

Not even twenty minutes and he's being thanked again. Tony's smile is strained when he answers Peter.

"Don't even mention it, kid."

* * *

Tony was pleased the first time he built Peter's suit. Really pleased. The part of him that wasn't having Rogers-induced migraines every five minutes rejoiced at the idea of a new challenge. Creating an audio-visual system capable of tracking and contacting a teenager, wrapping it in spandex, and finishing it all in under a day? Tony was _sold._

The same suit now makes him flinch.

It's one thing to know the suit works for Tony more than it ever did for Peter. It's another to see it in person–heaps of wires and silicon chips, all connected to the A.I., to the cameras and microphones, to the tracker and webshooters; none of them to emergency systems or safety measures. The suit's a testament to his own selfishness, and it's only slightly relieving that Peter is on the other side of the lab and hardly able to see what Tony is doing.

At least he won't waste time planning. A page lights up above his own bench–opaque from behind so Peter's enhanced eyes can't read it–listing everything Tony's thought of since before dawn.

Needless to say–it's a _lot._

_He's dying because Obie pulled his heart out._

The suit gets a built-in defibrillator. Reinforced spandex, too.

_Obadiah's winning and Tony doesn't have enough guns._

He fiddles with Peter's webshooters and makes F.R.I.D.A.Y come up with combinations. They don't look different, but the kid can attack in over five-hundred ways once he graduates the Training Wheels protocol.

_He's shivering and stranded in Tennessee. A dead J.A.R.V.I.S for company._

The suit gets a heater and a backup power source.

_He's choking on embers and ash and Killian is laughing._

Tony manoeuvres the mask into a smoke filter.

_He's fighting Steve and Rhodey is falling from the sky_.

It's a challenge, but he fits in a parachute.

_He's reeling after the fight with Steve and has to crawl to his phone._

He reprograms the A.I.. Baby Monitor Protocol or not, it's going to contact Tony when Peter is quiet for too long.

By the time they're all built and activated (And Tony's not done, not by a long shot), a few hours have passed. Tony is so engrossed he flinches when Peter calls out from behind him.

"Mr. Stark–oh crap, sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." Tony waves the page away and whips around. And puts excruciating effort into not looking guilty. "I'm, um, done with the code."

"Oh." The kid has the faintest blush but his eyes are shining and Tony assumes he should be impressed. He's mostly just panicked right now. "So, so soon?"

"I mean, it took a while. It's been three hours. Like you said. There were a _l__ot_ of errors."

Tony cringes. He hopes he hasn't overdone it. "Yeah, think I might have spilled something on part of F.R.I.D.A.Y's mainframe. Took her a couple hours to recover."

"So are you done with your part of the project?" Peter grins and cranes his neck over Tony's shoulder to look at the suit. Tony moves to stand on front of it, but the kid frowns and Tony realizes how guilty that probably looks and allows Peter to analyze the suit.

Tony isn't done. At all. He needs to add emergency measures for cuts and bruising and ingested drugs, and enhance the camera Peter thought of, and update the A.I. database to recognise criminals. And then there's so many more things to consider, so many more scenarios to act on.

But not giving this to Peter is suspicious. And he can't look the kid who put him on a pedestal in the eye and tell him this suit is useless, he can't.

Tony gives Peter a smile he hopes isn't strained.

"'Course I'm done, kid. Just gotta send this in for processing and you'll head back home."

Peter smiles again, and it's so warm Tony's panic melts a little.

"You had fun?" he asks, taking the suit to be finalized.

"Yes, _definitely_ yes." Peter starts swinging his arms the same way he did on his first day here, and runs to keep up with Tony. "Coding was–I mean, biology and chemistry are more fun, I think, but coding was _amazing._ And like, running it all and seeing it unfold is just–" The kid laughs, like that explains it all, and Tony's too busy enjoying it to consider the fact that his intern actually _prefers_ life sciences to this stuff. There's a click as the machine snaps shut, and only then does Tony fully relax, and really look at Peter.

He's not prepared for the onslaught of pure joy that this kid's radiating. His eyes are shining and he keeps biting his lips like he's trying to hold back a smile. It makes Tony's insides twist, because this kid trusts him _so much_ and Tony is just like Howard, Tony is using that trust to keep the kid in line behind his back, and he can't even admit to it; but the machine issues a faint _beep_ and cracks open, and the sight of the newly update suit makes him feel a little more okay.

He's fixed his mistake. Part of it, anyways. And Peter–the kid trusts him far more than Tony trusted his father at that age. Which has to mean something.

"Last time was more fun, though," Peter says, accepting the suit with a giddy nod.

Tony's unfocused. He blinks.

"Hmm? What's that now?"

"You know, us working together and talking about stuff!" Tony scoffs, but he smiles, and Peter grins even wider. "Like, coding's cool, but working on the suit is _way_ cooler. But I get it, and we're both done with today's project, right?" Tony nods slowly. "So that's great!"

Something about the was Peter says the suit is cooler doesn't sit right with Tony. But the kid's happy, and the suit is so much now, so Tony lets hid smile widen. Maybe he's not that bad for the kid. Maybe they can be friendly, so he can keep adding to the suit, and convince Pepper he doesn't need therapy–

Then without warning, the kid raises his right arm, and everything falls to pieces.

Tony scrambles back, panting–the kid's arm is moving too fast toward him, he sees _RogersRogersRogers_–and there's a horrid _clang_ as he hits the metal wall and now the shield in crashing into his suit–

"Oh my God, Mr. Stark! Mr. Stark, are you okay? Shit shit I'm so sorry–"

He feels a weight on his left arm and that's _worse_ because he hates being touched, and he must have done something because Peter pulls back his hand like it's been burned–

And just as quickly as it started, it ends. And Tony is in the lab, and the kid is watching with frantic wide eyes, and every scared part of Tony bleeds embarrassment.

"Mr. Stark, I'm so sorry–"

Tony nearly chokes on the next few words.

"Happy'll–Happy will take you. Go home, kid."

"Mr. Stark–"

"_Go._ Now."

He watches the kid slink away, backpack heavy in one arm, until he reaches the elevator.

Tony only calls Happy when the doors close.

* * *

It's the evening, and Tony is tired because he's been awake since two in the morning.

He slams his head into the workbench a fifth time.

"Boss, I advise you to stop doing that. My scanners say there is a very real chance of you sustaining brain damage.

"Good." Tony doesn't bother getting back up. If it was anyone other than F.R.I.D.A.Y, he'd be lamenting.

Tony had a panic attack. In front of the _kid._ And then yelled at said kid and probably made him feel like shit.

All because the kid wanted a goddamn _high five._

It's so obvious now. Peter's fifteen, and of course he celebrates with high fives, but instead Tony saw Steve Rogers and then had a panic attack about it and sent Peter home.

The part of him that hopes he is better than Howard withers. He has the despicable urge to laugh.

Peter's fifteen. He's fifteen, and his idol just had a meltdown and yelled at him.

Tony can't pretend that he's normal. Not after that. He's Tony Stark, charismatic and genius and hilarious; he should _not_ be unable to high five kids. Peter's face from that car ride–Tony imagines it multiplied tenfold; the kid terrified and ashamed and horror-struck.

It always comes down to one thing.

Pepper's right.

Tony calls her in. They both apologize, and at least a few tears are shed.

_You were right,_ he says, holding her hands._ I'm getting therapy._ Peter's stricken face on his mind the entire time.

Nightmares, anxiety, fear? Tony doesn't care. At least not enough to talk about it, to _admit_ that he's stupid and weak and irrational.

But when it hurts others–when it hurts Pepper, when it hurts Rhodey, when it hurts kids–Tony draws the line.

Happy starts the interviews the next day.

* * *

**Here's a fun factoid: this story was titled _Tony's Psychiatrist _back when i was first planning it before it got a halfway decent title. i'm so sorry i'm my poor baby suffer but i have to! and anyone who KNOWS what anxiety attacks are like, please tell me if im doing a good job! I really wanna know!**

**see you (hopefully!) next week!**

**love, Mariam**


End file.
